


Code Chartreuse

by BairnSidhe, ValkyriePhoenix



Series: Things That Should Not Have Worked: a Brief History of S.H.I.E.L.D. [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Because you asked for it, Gen, Harrow Twins, IT'S NOT MY FAULT, Terror Twins, crackfic hell, rated for language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 58,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8252857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BairnSidhe/pseuds/BairnSidhe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValkyriePhoenix/pseuds/ValkyriePhoenix
Summary: Tales of the Terror Twins, Harrow Boys Shenanigans, and a plethora of Code Chartreuses.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bodies in Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7970908) by [BairnSidhe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BairnSidhe/pseuds/BairnSidhe). 



> For those who care about such things, Ciara is pronounced "SHARE-aah".
> 
> Carry on.

Agent Ciara Harrow sat in the back of the black SUV Agent Hammond pushed her into and breathed a sigh of relief as they pulled away from the mansion. She'd had year-long undercover assignments with the IRA that were less migraine inducing than this 8-month long one with a damned gun runner. She was so ready to be done with this thrice-damned op, done with Barra Macbain and his arms deals, done with red-black-and-white plaid covering everything, and if she never had to listen to, never mind pretend to like, crappy metal renditions of perfectly good traditional Scot folk songs, it would be too soon. She was so very ready to fake the death of her cover identity, write the damned report (in triplicate), shower off Barra Macbain's oh-so-suave stink, order Chinese food and be fuckin _done_. 

Her tongue felt like it had forgotten how to speak anything but Gaelic.   
She was supposed to have been on _leave_ dammit. But Noooooo, they HAD to have a woman fluent in Gaelic to go under cover _immediately_...and nobody else spoke Gaelic near as well as Ciara did. She hoped her next assignment required her to speak Russian... or Italian. Anything but Gaelic and Celtic, really, she wasn't at all picky. Her head thunked against the headrest as she mentally listed off all the things she never wanted to do again because of this one assignment. It was a _loooong_ list. It started with “Scottish men” and ended with “wear red plaid”. 

She had just begun mentally writing her resignation letter, again, “just in case” another assignment like this one came up, when the SUV slowed to a stop at a red light, the door across from her opened and admitted a large, leather-clad, one-eyed black man. Ciara flopped her head to the side, letting her auburn hair fall into her eyes, and looked tiredly up at Nick Fury.

“Hey, Unca Mick.”

“Unca Mick, huh? You haven't called me that since you were six. Keep that up and other agents are going to start calling Director Nicholas J. Fury 'Unca Mick' and then I'll have to assign every one of you Barton-clean-up duty."

Ciara shrugged, “Eh, could be worse.”

“Worse?” Fury snorted and raised one skeptical brow, “What's worse than Barton duty?”

“Another 8 month long stint undercover with a lunatic More-Scottish-Than-You illegal arms dealer.”

“That bad, huh? I was going to ask, but I'll wait for the report.”

“Never. Again.” she insisted. “I don't even want to look at plaid that _contains_ red for at least another two years, never mind doing this whole ….fucknugget shit storm of an assignment again. Please, please, _please,_ tell me I get to actually take a leave now?”

“Debrief, file the reports, and report to Medical for your massively overdue physical, and then you get a mandatory 3 weeks leave. And stop pouting at me. Just because you're the only one that's ever worked for does not mean that you need to use it all the time.”

“Yay! Leeeeave! I miss being on leave,” Ciara cheered tiredly.

Fury snorted and rolled his eye, “Debrief and physical first, Agent. Get some sleep on the flight.” He got out at the next stop light with a quiet, “Good work.” and disappeared into the crowds.

 

 

Ciara was half an hour into her physical when the doctor came in, befuddled, reading her chart.

“Agent Harrow?”

“That's me.”

“It says here that you had an IUD put in place...18 months ago?”

“Yep.”

“Did you at any point have it taken out?”

“Um, noooo?”

“I see...well it appears to have fallen out at some point.”

“What?”

“And, congratulations, you're about seven weeks pregnant.”

“WHAT?”

An hour later, Fury hung up his office telephone, his ears still ringing with Gaelic cursing, and buried his face in his hands. “Hill! I need you to arrange for Agent Harrow to have the next two months on leave followed by desk duty for the next year or so. And plan for her maternity leave. And block any incoming calls from her on all of my phones for the next week. Send her chocolate. A lot of chocolate.”


	2. One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::text:: indicates thoughts.
> 
> I didn't sleep, I wrote this instead, and this chapter isn't beta'd. Be nice. I bite when tired.

“I can't take this assignment.”

Assistant Director Hill looked up towards the voice at her office door, where Ciara Harrow waved a file at her, and waved the agent towards a seat. “Why can't you take the assignment?”

“It's a 48 hour op, out of country, radio silence. I have twin 18 month old boys, and my only living relative just moved into a assisted living facility. Mom has early-onset Alzheimer's. I can't take the assignment.”

Hill sighed, they _needed_ a field-qualified agent on the ground who was fluent in Irish and Gaelic, and the paltry few SHEILD had were ...otherwise occupied. “Where are the boys now?”

“In the on-site daycare down on 12, but Agent Sams says I can only have them there for one eight hour shift per day.”

“Go home. Pack your go-bag, pack everything the boys might need in 48 hours, get back here. I'll arrange something for the boys. We need you on this op or I wouldn't have allowed for you to be called up for it. Strike Team Delta are already on a mission elsewhere, Mockingbird and Hunter are out on Medical, and nobody else if field qualified. Go, get it done, get back as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Ciara stood quickly, and left with a worried look, and Maria Hill groaned quietly to herself.

Maria _hated_ bureaucratic bullshit, and Agent Sams _thrived_ on it.  
::Why did we put that imbecile in charge of the day care center, again? ...Oh, right, no one actually wanted to deal with her being in Admin. UGH.::  
The Assistant Director dropped her pen onto her desk, closed the file she was working on, and dropped her head onto her desk, and recited the Serenity Prayer quietly to herself...in Latin... aaand then in Greek... and, once more, in Russian, just for good measure. Then, mostly in the hopes that some higher power could keep her from murdering Agent Sams, she picked up her phone and called Fury... and Coulson, because overkill is almost never actually a bad thing...right?

\---

“Hey, Nat?”

“What, Barton?”

“You know how I was running a couple minutes early and I said I'd be right behind you?”

“... Barton.”

“Yeeeah, tell the pilot to hold up. I got something to take care of.”

“...What?”

“There's a couple of toddlers jabbering in - is that Gaelic? Yep, Gaelic - riding the elevator unsupervised in someone's trash bin and a drawer from a file cabinet, surrounded by what looks like wrappers from Agent Barloew's chocolate stash. I'm taking them down to daycare, see if they're missing some boys.”

“Clint... The elevator is operated by retinal scan.”

“Yes, yes it is.”

“How did toddlers get ON the elevator?”

“I have no idea.”

“...The pilot will wait. Oh, hey, if there's any more of Barloew's stash that they haven't eaten yet, bring me some.”

\---

After a short conference call with Fury and Coulson, Hill quickly called Agent May down in Admin to get whatever red tape Agent Sams might insist on to allow the Harrow twins to stay in child care until their mother got back from her mission dealt with before that officious twit of a woman could even mention it, while Coulson and Fury headed down to deal with Sams directly.

Agent Sams was enjoying a cup of coffee in the sacred quietude of _nap time_ when the front doors opened to admit...very nearly the last people she expected to see ever walk into the child care center. She promptly spilled half of her very hot coffee down her shirt in her hurry to stand.

“Director Fury! Agent Coulson! Sirs! Ah, excuse me,” she rushed, as she hastily scrubbed at her shirt with a napkin, “A-ah, what brings you down here?”

“We're here about Colin and Caddell Harrow, Agent Sams,” Fury stated calmly, “I understand there's a ...problem with children staying here while their parents are on assignments lasting longer than 8 hours?”

“Ah, yes, sir, the regulations clearly state that...”

“I'm sorry, Agent Sams,” Coulson interrupted, “But do you pull out one cot for each child currently present at nap times?”

“Uhm, yes, sir, as state regulations requi-” Agent Sams seemed bound to be interrupted today.

Fury this time, “Agent Sams, where **are** Colin and Caddell Harrow?” 

“It's nap time, sir, they're in their cots right... Oh. Well, the entire place has alarms should any of the doors open without proper card access, they must be here somewhere...” she quickly checked the bathrooms, and then the cabinets, under desks...even the toy boxes. “They couldn't have gotten out, the alarms would have been triggered...”  
Suddenly, a loud alarm DID go off, causing Sams to crack her head on the cabinet she was checking, muttering a curse under her breath, as Agent Barton strolled through the front doors, go bag and bow case over his shoulder and a chocolate-covered toddler on each hip.

Coulson's hand came up to his mouth, as his other crossed his chest, and he cleared his throat. “Agent Barton,” he asked, “Aren't you supposed to be on a quinjet over the Atlantic right now?”

“Absolutely, Phil,” Clint grinned, any pretense of professionalism lost in the presence of children, “But on my way to the quinjet – on time, actually - I found these two bairns on the 19th floor, riding the elevator unsupervised in a trash can and a metal filing cabinet drawer, eating Barloew's chocolate stash. Thought I'd bring them here and see if they were missing. Nat's holding the 'jet for me.” He carefully lowered the boys, one at a time, over the half-door divider, with a gentle hair-ruffle. “Bí go maith, buachaillí,” Barton told them, as he turned to hurry back to the 'jet. 

Halfway to the door, he stopped and turned back, digging suddenly in a pocket, “Oh, Sams! One of the boys had...where'd it go...ah! This!” He handed Agent Sams' SHEILD security card back to her. “Might want to secure that a bit better. BYE!” Clint bolted for the door as Fury and Coulson turned identical raised-eyebrow-of-disbelief looks at Agent Sams.

\---

Over the course of the next hour:

Agent Sams was suspended.  
Agent Sitwell tripped over a random filing drawer in the hallway outside of the 19th floor elevator, landed on and broke a random empty office trash can, sprained his knee and gave himself a concussion, requiring a trip to Medical and sparing two baby-agents an excessively long-winded lecture on proper report writing format.  
Agent O'Connor returned to his office on the 15th floor from a meeting to find his paper shredder on the floor, the bag empty off to the side, shreds everywhere, but no trashcan. Maintenance has no idea what occurred but will send him a new bin.  
Agent Barloew returned to her 17th floor office from lunch to find files strewn all over the floor and the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet missing...along with her chocolate stash that she kept in the hollow under the bottom drawer. Her three _month_ supply of truffles that she brought back from her last mission in _Belgium,_ THAT chocolate stash, was missing. Maintenance has no idea what happened, but they will gladly bring her a new drawer or a new cabinet if a drawer to her model of cabinet cannot be found. Sadly, they can do nothing about the missing chocolate stash.  
Agent Coulson reshuffled agent assignments to put someone in charge of the on-site child care for the duration of Sams' suspension.  
Director Fury read twelve Dr. Seuss books, with allllll the voices, to nine 1-through-5 year olds, two freshly-cleaned, strawberry blonde 18month olds perched snugly on his lap, as they all waited for someone to come cover Agent Sams' shift.  
Natasha Romanov shared some truly excellent Belgian chocolate truffles with her partner and their pilot, making pornographic noises all the while. Much to the consternation of flight control and mission control, as all three left their coms wide open.  
Agent Danely arrives to replace Sams and Fury leaves, just in time for Agent Harrow to return with everything her twins will need during her mission and run for her flight out, completely unaware of any of the past hours' events.

\---

“Oh, God, Clint, this is so. Fucking. GOOOOD.”

“MMM, I know. Fuck. Tastes delicious.”

“Goddamn, I need more. Gimme another.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Bí go maith, buachaillí._ \- "Be good, boys." Internet translators, please correct me if you know better than google.


	3. The First 24 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I had notes. I forgot them. I uh, will probably edit later with notes...

Caddell and Colin Harrow were, indeed, very good boys... for Director Fury. Not so much for anybody else. Agent Danely found them to be charming little devils, the sweetest little boys, gentle and surprisingly courteous for their age, with wicked little grins, and a penchant for all sorts of mostly-harmless mischief. They didn't run off again during her shift, which closed out at 7:30 PM with only the two of them left when night shift came in, but they were chaos incarnate, and problematically good at team work. One would distract her while the other got into what ever it was they wanted, usually snacks, and hid it away for them both to devour later, or they would wait till the other children had her busy, and then work together to lift heavy things, or reach difficult places.

Aware of the shenanigans the two boys pulled earlier in the day, Danely called Maintenance and had them put in extra cameras, called over to SCI-Div and got someone to bring her tracker ankle bracelets with an alarm should they be removed, toddler sized house-arrest anklets, really, but tracking all of their movements, not just outside of the place they were supposed to be, there was some incredulity, and SCI-Div wanted to verify that it was authorized, but Agent Coulson assured them it was “a reasonable request, considering...” and left the reasons unsaid. Everything was just finished when night shift arrived at 7:00 PM, and Agent Danely sat down with them while the boys ate their dinners and explained the events of the day, the new security measures, and that the twins would be with them for another 42 hours or so. Then Danely was gone and two half-trained baby agents were left with two devious toddlers. 

Sweetness, innocence, and light prevailed ...for about 45 minutes. They even got into their pajamas and went to bed at exactly 8:00 without a fuss! Agent Johnston and Agent Wilks began to think that, well, if all that DID happen today, then they clearly tired themselves out... And then the lights were turned off, the boys laying quietly in their cribs, Agent Wilks went to the cafeteria to get the agents their dinner, Agent Johnston made himself some coffee and went to the bathroom, checking the trackers on the monitor before getting up and after returning to the desk, and sat back to play some Peggle on his phone. 

\---

Agent 13 had been writing this mission report for hours, after spending _more_ hours verbally debriefing. She still had several pages left to go when she decided to break for some food, since she was obviously going to be in the office for some time yet. At 8:46, she walked into the cafeteria to find it empty of people, plenty of dinner foods, and almost no desserts. A sudden flash of color out among the tables drew her eye. Quietly, she set her dinner tray down, drew her sidearm, and stalked slowly around the tables till she could see the source. Moving as silently as she could, Carter made her way to the only table in the room with an underside not readily visible from any of the entrances or the food counters, stopped and stared, stupefied. Two children's blankets pulled over the low-backed chairs pushed in under the table shielded the sides from view, and one tiny, bare foot peeked out from underneath. Sharon blinked rapidly, shook herself, and quickly holstered her weapon. Then, moving as silently as before, she crept up next to the table, knelt down and peeked around the blanket.

There, in monster hooded pajamas, were two tiny little boys, surrounded by little light-up toys, alphabet magnets, and what appeared to be two nerf swords, gleefully working their way through – she counted plates – their sixth desserts, assuming they'd shared equally. Taking a deep breath and drawing on every memory she had of dealing with small children, Sharon was careful to keep her voice quiet but chipper.

“Hey, guys, this looks like a pretty awesome party. Can I join you?”  
BlueMonster bit his lower lip and nodded, smiling coyly at her. GreenMonster grinned brightly and offered her his half-eaten cookie. 

“Oh! That's very generous of you,” Sharon grinned, “but why don't you finish that cookie and I'll eat _this_ cookie?”

An accord settled, Sharon scooched as much under the table as she could, and ate a cookie while the boys finished the desserts they were eating.

“I'm Sharon, what are your names?”

BlueMonster whispered, “Caddell,” and hid his face briefly before going back to his brownie.  
GreenMonster had no such shyness, and barely remembered to swallow his bite of cookie before announcing proudly that he was Colin, and they were one-anda-half years old, and their Mam was workin' and people called her “Agent Harrow” but her name was Ciara, not “Agent.” He didn't know why they called her that, when it _wasn't her name._

If Agent Carter had to call on all of her best spy-training to keep a straight face, no one ever needed to know.

“Ah, well, if your ma is working, then you two are probably supposed to be in child care, where someone can make sure you're safe till she gets back, right? Why don't we clean up a little bit and I'll get you and all your toys back to where you're supposed to be, and you can have the rest of this party there, alright?”

The Monsters proved surprisingly helpful at getting all the dishes where they were supposed to go, their toys gathered up and bundled into the blankets, and order (mostly) restored. Sharon had them picked up and returned to day care in no time at all, though she pretended not to notice the brownies and cookies they'd snuck into their things.

Agents Johnston and Wilks looked up at Agent 13, holding their charges and two bundled blankets in shock for a moment, before triple-checking that the monitors and alarms all still showed both boys still in their beds.

“Agent 13, ma'am,” Johnston whimpered, Wilks was pale and looking like she'd forgotten how to speak, “Agent Danely had several new security features put in today to ...ah...prevent further escapes... I ah...I don't know how they got out. O-or why all of the monitors still show them in the cribs... they, ah, they went to bed an hour ago, and laid down quietly....I thought they were asleep when I went to the bathroom, and the monitors never showed them moving.... pleasedon'thaveusfired.”

Sharon bit her lips and nodded, “So they've done this before?”

“Yes, Ma'am, earlier today, Ma'am. Agent Sams was suspended for allowing them to steal her security badge and failing to notice their escape, Ma'am. That's why all the new cameras and the anklet trackers.” 

“They're not wearing anklet trackers, Agent.”

“They were when they went to bed, ma'am.”

“...I see. I promised them that they could finish their blanket fort party down here, why don't we let them do that and one of you can sit _with_ them while we investigate, and I will go and pull the security footage and I will make sure the faulty equipment and the sneakiness of certain monsters is noted in the report.”

Agent Wilks gladly helped the boys build an _even better_ blanket fort and sit with them in it, while Johnston located the trackers in their cribs, on their Bucky and Cap bears' ankles, and Carter discovered the “I” magnet on the alarm sensor on the front door, though no one could figure how they GOT it way up there...

Agent Carter returned to her office at 9:32 PM, looked down at the report she had been writing, then at the magnet in her hand and sighed. She'd already debriefed on the mission anyway, the report could wait, she had a feeling that a report on the escapes of a particular pair of twins was significantly more time-sensitive. Fifteen minutes after pulling up the security feeds from that evening, Sharon _knew_ this report was more time-sensitive, and started the computer pulling the rest of the feeds from today.

\---

A great many things happened early the next morning, in a very short period of time.

Strike Team: Delta's mission wrapped up significantly faster than expected. Apparently, they were operating under the assumption that if you just used enough explosives the _first_ time, there was no need for a Plan B to double the explosives. They were on their way home 14 hours after they left, with 3 hours of flight time ahead of them. 

At 6:30 AM, Agent Danely arrived to find two toddlers sleeping in a blanket fort in the middle of the play area, trackers secure on their ankles, and two Level 2 agents looking like they'd spent the night in a foxhole, waiting for the next mortar to hit.  
Between 6:30 and 7:00, twelve other pre-school aged children arrived, and two toddlers in monster pajamas went missing, leaving their trackers behind, somehow, on the desk, and a very harried Agent Danely couldn't figure out who to call.

At 7:02, Director Fury entered his office to find a file and a flash drive waiting on his desk. An attached sticky note read:  
“Upon review of the security footage from the last 24 hours of Agent Harrow's twins, I am strongly recommending remedial training for all agents in the footage enclosed, excepting Agents Barton, Danely, Johnston, and Wilks, who did everything they could reasonably be expected to do to deal with the problem. Full report and my recommendation for a review of the security of the Child Care Center enclosed. - Agent 13”  
Fury groaned, poured himself an unusually large cup of coffee, plugged the flash drive in and opened Carter's report. Ten minutes later, his PA nearly fell out of his seat when Fury's voice boomed through the door, “LOOK _DOWN,_ YOU INCOMPETENT JACKASSES! OH, MY FUCKING GOD. JACKSON! GET HILL IN MY OFFICE, NOW!” 

Agent Jackson, personal assistant to Director Fury, hurried to comply.

\---

At 7:26, Agent Melinda May was very late walking in the front doors, but the lines in Starbucks were hell and she refused to drink the swill the Admin office lounge claimed was coffee. She also suspected someone had swapped in Decaf again. If she found out who did, she'd sign them up for one of Romanov's remedial combat training classes. Mostly because she didn't want to deal with investigative and review boards for shooting a fellow agent in the office. Even if they _would_ decide it was justified. (And they would. The Coffee Wars were still recent enough in everyone's memory that 98% of SHEILD would determine someone mucking with the coffee sources absolutely deserving of being shot on sight. Still, there would be an investigation, and it would screw with everyone's week.)  
Working her way through the Admin Office's cubical maze towards the pile of files masquerading as her desk, May noticed several unusual things. Agent Barley's granola bars had gone missing, someone had stolen _all_ of Agent Lavelle's juice boxes... before noon, and Agent Corries' impressive candy jar was completely empty and it wasn't even 9AM yet. By the time she got all the way back to her desk, Agent May was already on the alert for things out of place, the appearance of a small green-sleeved arm reaching out from under her desk to snatch a fallen juicebox didn't even surprise her, especially not after yesterday's shenanigans. 

With an eyeroll for her clueless colleagues, she calmly went to her desk, turned on her computer and sat down, pretending not to notice the boys but being very careful not to accidentally kick them. Pulling up the intra-base memo program, and picking up her office phone, she typed up an action plan with one hand for all future escapes, including the lock down of unsafe zones like SCI-Div and the Armory, and called Phil with the other, cradling the handset between her ear and shoulder so she could sneak a photo of the monsters under her desk with her cell phone. 

“Good morning, Phil. I just wanted to confirm that Strike Team: Delta is on their way back safe?”

“They should be landing shortly. What do you need?”

“Any trips to Medical needed?”

“... None that Barton won't be allowed to get away with escaping. He appears not to have broken anything when he fell off a building this time. Why?”

Coulson's phone pinged with a text message. From May.

“Oh, I just need you to send them my way as soon as possible. I seem to have recovered some things I'd like them to collect.”

Phil opened the message and had to force himself not to facepalm. At least someone _competent_ had eyes on the monsters. “I will make sure they get to you before heading to debrief. Get the names of everyone in your office who was there before you today. Remedial training all around.”

“It will be in your email within the hour. As will an action plan, for your approval, to handle any further occurrences.”

“Thank you. I'll have Barton and Romanov to you as soon as they land.”

\---

“Are they really...?”

“Yup.”

“Aand no one...?”

“Not a mother-fuckin one.”

“What is this? Metal Gear Solid? Snake wasn't as effective and he's supposedly a trained operative!”

“Agent 13 recommended remedial training for all of them.”

“I'll say. Remedial training for the whole damned building. Want me to call the Academy and get them working on something effective that will also be legal?”

“Make it their final project. Who ever comes up with a solution that works and doesn't hurt the boys gets an A. Teamwork encouraged.”

Agent Coulson knocked briefly, and stuck his head in the door at Hill and Fury, “Director?”

“Cheese, come in. We were just watching footage of the Harrow twins' two escapes yesterday.”

“Ah, this is the right time then. Agent May just submitted an action plan for dealing with further escapes after finding the boys under her desk when she got in this morning. I've included the names of her co-workers who somehow missed a pair of toddlers stealing their things to be sent for remedial training.”

Fury read the plan over, while Coulson and Hill shouted at the screen like they were watching football and their team was losing...badly.

“Approved. Send the plan out, get a list of every person we have footage of failing to catch and return the boys, send them all to remedial training.”

“Romanov and Barton to run the training?”

“Hell yes. Make sure Sitwell's in the class too. He may not have walked by the twins, but he managed to trip on their toys, and agents of his level should damned well know to look DOWN.”

\---

“Hi, boys! Remember me? My friend NatMonster and I are going to go play in the gym, and we wanted to know if a BlueMonster and a GreenMonster could join us. Wanna come with?”

Two pairs of little hands immediately reached out from under Agent May's desk.

Nat smirked, “I think that's a yes.”


	4. Fury Needs a Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my epic Betas, FantasyTLOU and the PUTS, to BairnSidhe who started this mess with Bodies in Time, and to quadrad and mouseymightymarvelous who keep feeding the crackfic monster.
> 
> Also, adult agenty people use some not-very-creative foul language.

 

_"In the event of a Code Chartreuse, all labs, weapons testing areas, gun ranges, armories, locker rooms, and chemical storage areas, including but not limited to Janitors' closets, are to immediately go to full lockdown. All beverages, snacks, and candies are to be either secured behind a manual lock and key or kept in direct line-of-sight or in hand at all times; any losses of such items, especially during a Code Chartreuse, will not be reimbursed or replaced by SHIELD. All agents not otherwise occupied with a Priority 2 or better, time sensitive, and/or urgent task are to immediately stop what they are doing, search and secure their floor. Security and Strike teams will secure their floors and then search and secure all stairwells, elevators, and gyms, before proceeding to the cafeteria."_

 

\---  


The NatMonster had gone half an hour earlier to return the boy's pajamas, the twins having been changed to day clothes as soon as a baby agent could be sent to the child care to collect some of their things. The baby agent offered to take the pajamas back, but Nat said she had another mission to take care of anyways.

 

\---  
  
  
“Sir?”

 

“Phil,” Fury sighed, wondering what it was this time.  
  
“I just finished debriefing Danely, Johnston, and Wilks.”

 

“And?”

 

“Are we giving agents in the Child Care hazard pay?”

 

“....Probably not.”  
  
“We should be. Also, Johnston and Wilks will probably require a few days of leave. And we might need to consider altering the security clearance increase algorithms so that time in the Child Care, particularly overnights with the Harrow twins, counts as field experience.”

 

Fury couldn't decide between laughing, groaning, and burying his face in his hands. He'd met the twins, knew their mother when she was the same age as the twins, Phil was probably right. “See to it. And give May a bonus for the action plan.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

As Phil left, Nick had to wonder if he could get the “Not My Circus” award for Harrow Twins stunts... He could really use a good scotch right now.

 

\---

 

Agents Rumlow and Rollins walked down the hall towards the gym they considered theirs, talking loudly and checking their emails. The rest of their team had gone straight to the cafeteria as soon as they landed, home from their latest assignment.

  
“What the fuck is with this memo about a Code Chartreuse? Coupl'a kids go wandering and we're supposed to go into lockdown?” Rollins looked scandalized.

 

“Some agents can't do their fuckin job and mind some damned brats, so it becomes everybody's fuckin problem. Keep reading, they want _us_ doing searches.”

 

“We're STRIKE. Why are they wasting STRIKE on babysitting?”

 

“Fuck if I know, someone's got a burr up their ass.”

 

In the gym, all play (training) suddenly stopped as a pair of grey eyes, a pair of blue eyes, and a pair of green eyes all narrowed dangerously at the closed door to the hallway, voices coming through it, loud and clear. Sharing a glance and matching smirks, Caddell hid behind Clint's legs while Colin climbed to the high point nearest the door and perched with the stick Clint had been teaching them sword fighting with like a gargoyle about to attack, glaring hard at the door that swung open sharply as Rumlow and Rollins strode into the room, stopped and stared.  


“The fu-?”

 

“Barton? They got you on babysitting duty, now? At least they found something you're good for, besides falling off buildings. Why is the brat in our gym?”

 

Caddell burst, theatrically, into vociferous tears, startling both STRIKE agents, roughly 1.2 seconds before Colin took a flying leap from his hiding spot, swinging the stick down as he came, cracking Rumlow in the shoulder and rolling as he landed on the mats...just like Clint taught him not 10 minutes earlier.

 

“SHIT!” Rumlow howled.

  
“...Because I was teaching them things like that,” Clint smirked, bending to pick Colin up, hefting the toddler to his hip.

  
“The Fuck, Barton? Can't keep your pets on a leash?” Rumlow leaned in to a grinning Colin, and glared, “Don't you know what happens to little brats who run with sticks? They lose an eye.”

  
Colin glared back and shook his stick, threateningly, he thought.

 

“Where _is_ NattieNat?” Rollins 'wondered' snidely, “Isn't it her job to keep small children with no manners or sense in line? I mean, that's why she's stuck with you, innit, Barton?”

 

Barton smirked as he bent to pick up Caddell, who was chewing on something, “She's, y'know, _around_. Somewhere. Catch you boys later.” Clint turned and _sashayed_ , like a bloody runway model, from the gym, calling back over his shoulder, “Don't forget to go see Medical about that shoulder, Brock, wouldn't want it to get in the way of a mission, would we?”

 

A good bit down the hall, as the gym doors closed behind them, Clint paused and looked down at the twins on his hips, who were now both chewing on something.  


“What are you boys chewing on, then? Hmm?” He asked, setting them on their feet.

 

Calmly, but with a hint of pride, Caddell pulled from his shirt and placed in Clint's hands: one black leather wallet, one brown leather wallet, two security badges, a lighter, a pocket knife, 58 cents, and a half-empty packet of Monster brand caffeine gummies. Clint's jaw just about fell off, but he collected himself quickly.

 

“You little grifter! Wanna go find NatMonster and show her your prizes?” At Caddell's happy, emphatic nod, Clint helped him put everything back under his shirt. “Alright, I need to make a quick phone call, so I need one of you to hold my hand and the other to hold his hand, okay? Okay. Let's go find the NatMonster.”

  
\---

  
Coulson didn't even look up from the files in front of him as his phone rang, dealing with the Harrow twins incidents had put him behind on his paperwork. He hit the speaker button on his phone, “Coulson.”

 

“Hi, Phil. I just wanted it noted that I did NOT give the toddlers caffeine. They stole it while I was dealing with a ...problem and had already eaten it before I knew they had it.”

 

Phil promptly face-palmed, somehow knowing this was going to involve more paperwork, “...How do you know they had it, then?”

 

“I asked what they were chewing on and they handed me the contents of said problem's pockets, including a packet of caffeine gummies that was half empty.”

 

“Where did this occur?”

 

“Level 8 training gym, ending, oh, 4-5 minutes ago, starting 5ish, call it six, minutes before that.”

 

“I'll deal with it, but YOU get the paperwork.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Clint sighed. He _hated_ paperwork.

  
“Where are you now?”

 

“We're going to go find the NatMonster and show her our prizes. Maybe get lunch in the caf.”

 

“Good, you do that. I'll go pull that security footage.”

 

\---

 

Nick Fury returned to his office from another damned meeting with idiots to find a large bottle of vodka on his desk. A large bottle of top shelf, only-available-in-Russia, vodka, with a little red bow tied around it. Still sealed. He sighed and began to pour himself a glass. It wasn't the scotch he wanted, but it was still damned good, and if Romanov was buttering him up, he was probably going to need a glass or three already in him when he found out whatever happened this time.

 

He looked up at the knock on his door and rolled his eye as Coulson stuck his head in, “Dammit, what now?”

 

“There's been another Harrow incident, sir. Barton was involved this time, though it wasn't actually his fault.”

 

“Barton AND the Harrow twins? This day just couldn't get any better, could it? I assume you're here to show me since you didn't just call.” Fury sighed, taking a drink as he settled into his chair. “Fine, come in, and show me what happened this time.”

 

\---

 

Twelve minutes later, more than half of it spent staring in silence at the screen that had long since finished playing the video, Coulson looked tiredly over at Fury, "We're recruiting them as soon as legal, aren't we?"

 

"Yes, yes we are. Drink? Have a drink. You need a drink, and I need another."

 

“Yes, please.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Jackson needs a vacation.

 

 

_If you have received this email, it is because two 18 month old boys managed to get the better of you, either sneaking past you unnoticed, stealing from you, or doing something that resulted in your injury. As such, you are to report for remedial training in the 2 nd Floor Gym at 8:00AM every day beginning on Monday, until your trainer has deemed you passable. If you look at the list of recipients of this email, you will find yourself in extensive, good company. Agent Romanov will be teaching this round of remedial training. Do Not Be Late._

 

_\---_

 

Agent Jackson stuck his head into Director Fury's office. Cautiously, because the last few days had lead to quite a bit of yelling, and he had no idea what to expect. “Sir? You asked to be notified when Agent Harrow's jet was landing.”

 

“Good,” Fury didn't look up from the paperwork in front of him, “Send her to me directly, before debriefing or reports.”

 

\---

 

Agent Harrow, as many agents do, checked her emails on her phone on the flight home and while walking in the halls of her home SHEILD base. By the time she was summoned to the Director's office, she'd already read about Code Chartreuse which, although it didn't name any children, filled her with dread and a feeling like she was being called to the principal's office, again. She was...rather familiar with being called to the principal's office, even if the school's football star absolutely deserved it. Every. Time.

 

She straightened her clothes, checked her hair in a bathroom mirror, and, reasonably satisfied, took herself off to Fury's office.

  
  
“Good afternoon, Agent Jackson, I understand Director Fury would like to see me?”

 

“Yeah, yes, Agent Harrow just.... How are you so calm? No one is calm when Fury sends for them. Except maybe Coulson, but he's _Coulson._ So how are you calm?”

 

“Oh, that's easy. I just pretend I've been sent to the principal's office again for beating the crap out of the quarterback when he was harassing freshman girls. Again. It happened a lot, I beat him up a lot, and went to the principal's office a lot. Dad and the principal got to be on first name basis within about a month.”

  
  
Agent Jackson gulped, eyes wide. He was pretty sure this petite, unassuming woman might actually be as crazy as Barton. He hadn't thought that was possible. “Just, um, go on in. He's expecting you.”  
  
Agent Jackson needed a vacation.

 

\---

 

“You asked to see me, Director?”

 

Fury closed the file he had in front of him and looked up, “Ciara, have a seat, I have some questions for you.”

  
  
Agent Harrow closed the door behind her and took a seat across from the man she'd known her whole life, meeting his eye easily. “Is there a problem, Sir?”

 

“A problem?” Fury snorted. “Depends on your definition. What have you been teaching those boys of yours?”

 

“Nothing excessively out of the ordinary, I think. I caught them climbing on top of the mantle a few months ago and started teaching them that and tumbling so that at least they'd be able to be safe about it. I may have started them on swords a bit earlier than I started with swords, mostly to give them an outlet for their focus and energy, and with my job and who their father is... starting some method of self defense early seemed wise. And Gaelic and Russian. A bit of kid-friendly science, here and there. Why?”

 

“Get comfortable,” Fury suggested, pulling out a mostly-empty bottle of Russian vodka, “I've got some footage to show you from the last couple of days.”

 

\---

 

If the sounds coming from Fury's office when Coulson and Hill were there the other day sounded like their football team was losing horrifically, Jackson could tell that Agent Harrow's team was definitely winning... even if nothing she said was in English. And she _cackled_. Who the hell cackles? Besides villains...and Barton. Agent Jackson _definitely_ needed a vacation.

 

\---

 

SCI-Div always loved it when Agent Barton came to visit. He always had the _best_ ideas... even though most of them wound up in the Manual later. He loved to feed their mad genius tendencies, and they loved him for it. He also had all the best gossip. So when he walked in that day, he had their immediate attention.

 

“I need a favor,” He said, “And I have $253.58 for whoever can do it for me.”

 

“...That's an oddly specific amount, Barton,” Dr. Gevard said curiously.

 

“Yeah.... You know that email you all got about Code Chartreuse? A pair of 18 month old twin boys escaped daycare three times in the last 2 days, despite security and those ankle trackers Agent Danely asked you for. They then picked Rumlow and Rollins' pockets. The money is from that, and I thought I'd use it to get them something. You guys make the best of everything.”

 

“....Rumlow and Rollins got their pockets picked by babies still in diapers?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Keep the money, that gossip is payment enough. What do you need?”

 

“Foam. Swords. Preferably rigid and durable on par with wood. but without the likelihood of causing injury. Can you make them claymores but sized waaay down so they're proportionate to a 2-and-a-bit foot tall person?”

 

Dr. Gevard grinned, anticipating more antics and juicy gossip. “I can do that within about a day. Do you want them colored or realistic?”

 

“Realistic, but with one hilt bright blue and the other electric green?”

 

“Come back tomorrow, I'll have them ready. I want the full story on these boys when you do.”

 

“Gladly, it's a pretty epic story.”

 

\---

 

Clint was just getting on the elevator to go find Nat when the Code Chartreuse came over the PA. Rather than continuing looking for Nat, he hit the button for the 19th floor, heading straight to the Level 8 gym. He had a feeling.

 

The dual cries of “Clin! Clin!” upon his entry to the gym gave Clint's hunch credence. The boys he expected. The agent they sat on top of, who was trussed up with a jump rope and somebody's gym socks... not so much. Especially as the agent in question was neither security nor a high enough level to access the floor, let alone the gym.

 

Clint kept his tone light, no need to scare the twins just yet, “There you two are. People are looking for you. And what's this?”

  
  
“We wan' see you,” Caddell insisted.

 

“Little man no' s'pose be up here. S'pose' t'be on 6. Is bad t'go where don' belong,” Colin chimed in.

  
  
“Yes, it is. And you two aren't supposed to be up here unless NatMonster or I bring you.”

 

The pouts were killing him. One was bad enough, but both at once was brutal.

 

“Aw, pouts, no. Okay, here's the deal, I'm going to call someone to deal with 'little man' here, then we're gunna get you two back to child care. Your mom's coming home today; you don't want her to worry, do you? No, you don't. So we're going to get you back to child care, and you're going to stay there until your mom comes to get you. In return, I promise that if NatMonster and I are here, we will come get you to play up here for at least 2 hours every day. Okay? And I'll teach you to use the vent systems to get around the building for your second birthday present.”

 

With the twins mollified and pouts holstered, Clint called security, called off the Code Chartreuse, and got someone up to deal with... Clint checked his badge... Agent Daniels (Level 2, ComSCI...floor 6, exactly like the boys said... Coulson should probably hear about this.). As soon as security was there for Daniels, Clint gathered up the boys and took them back down to the child care center, making a mental note to find Agent Harrow and ask her to add him and Nat to the authorized list for the boys.

 

\---

 

Coulson walked in to Fury's office as he and Ciara finished watching the boys pick the STRIKE leaders' pockets and Barton sashay from the gym. Harrows was still giggling, and looked like she was in desperate need of air.

 

“Director, Agent Harrow,” Coulson nodded at both of them, pulling up another chair and handing Fury another flash drive. “Code Chartreuse has been called off. Clint found them. In the Level 8 gym. With Level 2 Agent Daniels from ComSCI, whom, apparently, they caught where he was not supposed to be, knew he wasn't supposed to be there, and managed to capture and restrain him with a jump rope and someone's gym socks. Barton is taking them back to child care, but he had to promise them that if he and Romanov are here, they'll spend 2 hours a day with the boys in the gym. He asked me to ask Agent Harrow here to add them to the authorized list in the boys' child care files. The flash drive is security footage of this escape, and Agent Daniels' capture.”

 

Fury sighed and facepalmed, as he loaded up the new footage, “Ciara, we need you in the field, but if I have to babysit the boys, especially in conjunction with Barton, who is, apparently, the only agent we have that the boys actually like... I'm going to need at least a bottle of single malt scotch a month.” Fury paused to consider his glass, “Better make it two bottles a month. Romanov's apology gift for the last couple of days didn't even last the full 48 hours.”

 

Ciara just resumed cackling.

 

Coulson looked thoughtfully at the screen and then back to Fury, “Should we just give the boys clearance for the elevators and Level 8 gym? That's where they want to go anyways, and we can't seem to keep them anywhere they don't want to be...”

 

“How did they know Agent Daniels is supposed to be on the 6th floor and isn't authorized for the 19th floor?”

 

Coulson groaned, “Apparently, they've been wandering the building a lot longer than this and have identified which faces belong where. Agent Sams either never noticed or never reported their going missing until we visited while they were gone.”

 

“Fire her, put them in the system, see if SCI-Div can make a subdermal tracker for them to act as their security badge and retinal scans to get around the building, and modify the Code Chartreuse action plan to include a list of people to call to look for them. Make sure the three of us, Romanov, Barton, Carter, and May are on that list, whoever is in the building or closest to it at the time. And send Romanov to find out why Daniels was on 19. Bribe her with those Italian cookies she likes if you have to. And I had better damned well win the 'Not My Circus' award this month. Ciara, stop cackling and go debrief.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Ciara giggled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, when she was somewhere between a year and 18 months old, we grown ups turned around from putting groceries away to find my niece on top of the mantle of the fireplace, talking to herself in the mirror. At 2 she climbed straight-legged up the front of the refrigerator to get to the cookies. At 3 she climbed the doorjamb to unlock the chain and escape, and regularly climbed trees that couldn't hold adult weight until she was too high for anyone to reach her, and then laughed at them trying to get her down. At 4 she climbed over the railing of the balcony at my mom's house and crouched on the down-stairs neighbors' roof to hiss angrily at passerby and got into the vents at her mom's work. She was entirely non-verbal until she was 5. At not quite 7, we're still cheering every word usage, and the lessening in frequency of escapes and escapades. We are heartily glad she was not a twin or the Harrow boys' seemingly improbable shenanigans would have been a terrifying reality. As it is, all the security guards at their church, her mom's work, and her school, know her on sight by name. I am really not stretching things that far with the abilities of the boys.
> 
> Edit: I have no idea why every instance of "Agent Harrow" spontaneously developed pluralization. it should be fixed now.


	6. Art.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I don't have a chapter of anything for you, I got a higher dosage on my meds and the side effects have been kicking my ass, have a picture of Ciara instead. Took me about 4 times my usual start-to-finish time. Colored pencils and soft pastels on Bristol.

  
[Code Chartreuse: Agent Ciara Harrow](http://valkyriephoenix.deviantart.com/art/Code-Chartreuse-Agent-Ciara-Harrow-642046527) by [ValkyriePhoenix](http://valkyriephoenix.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys' tartan is http://www.tartanfootprint.com/file/pic/photo/2013/02/9731159a1b46a35d6fc54f2fab2b718c.jpg

 

Five and a half months later, Agent Ciara Harrow had gone on 14 overnight assignments, Colin and Caddell had captured 5 more people where they didn't belong, Building Security had decided the boys were their mascots, SCIDiv had all but adopted the boys, presenting them with new toys nearly every time they had gotten the better of Strike, Specialist, or Field agents, 90% of Strike teams, Specialists and Field agents officially hated the boys, and Fury was dreading the boys' approaching birthday the next week. Agent Barton had been dubbed “Unca Clin'” by the twins and they appeared to regard Agent Romanov as a crazy but much beloved aunt, though they only referred to her as “NatMonster.” Anyone who didn't think that a birthday for the unholy miniature tyrants that claimed Barton and Romanov as their uncle and aunt and was in the pockets of Security and SCIDiv was a concept that should fill one with terror was clearly in need of a psych eval.

 

Preparing for the fast-approaching Doom Day, Fury had called all hands on deck, canceled all leaves the next week, most especially on the Day, hounded Maintenance into upping security across the building, and put all missions not already active on hold until June 18th. He'd also stocked up on scotch for Coulson and himself, and vodka for Hill. Lord knew they would need it. He was missing something, he knew it. He looked up from his half-prostrate position in his desk chair, which surely was not intended to lean back quite that far, when Phil knocked and stuck his head in.  
  
“Sir?”

 

“Phil. PLEASE save me from the next week. Disaster in the Sandbox? Helicarrier having problems? Anything that needs me somewhere...away?”

 

“No, sorry, not yet. I'm sure something will come up, though the twins would be most disappointed if Unca Mick misses the party.”

 

“Damn. You just had to play the Unca Mick card, didn't you?”

 

“Yes, Sir. If I have to be there, so do you. And Maria'd kill you for ditching her there.”

 

Fury sighed wearily. “What did you need?”

 

“You'll like it,” Phil smiled at his friend, “I have a comprehensive list of authorized presents anyone, including SCIDiv may give the boys, and a list of banned presents, including most of SCIDiv's proposed presents.”

 

“...What did the flaming imbeciles try to give them now?”

 

“Child sized climbing gear, including all tools necessary for scaling and entering office buildings, an automated lock pick version of a Leatherman, usable for all types of locks, electronic or otherwise, contact paralytic paint ball guns, and 'child friendly explosives'. Among other things.”

 

Fury stared at Phil for a long moment, “...Child. Friendly. Explosives?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Send whichever one suggested that for a psych eval.”

 

“...All of them, sir?”

 

“...There was more than one? Yes, ALL of them. ...How many _is_ 'all' exactly?”

 

“Twenty-seven.”

 

“...Out of fifty three of SCIDiv on this base? Schedule a motherfucking department review, too. And take away their coffee again, be clear why it's being taken, no need for another war.”

 

\---

 

Agent Harrow was finishing up a mission somewhere in no-longer-Russian territory. Barton and Romanov were somewhere in still-Russian territory. STRIKE had been grounded for 24 hours, their next mission put on hold for a week, and they were restless with it. Morse and Hunter had just got back, and were wondering why they were recalled from their post-mission leave.

 

Fleeing the cafeteria filled with cranky and restless strike teams and specialists, Bobbi and Lance headed to the 19 th  floor gym. The floor was silent, which somewhat confused the agents, with all the restless people down in the cafeteria, why was no one in this gym? Hesitantly opening the door, their answer stared up at them, adorable, mischievous, and very much caught in the act. They'd heard Romanov talk about her _detskiye monstry_ often enough over the past months that there was no doubt just who the little boys in blue-and-green tartan kilts, converse, blue paint, and nothing else were. With a brief glance at each other, Bobbi and Lance smiled at the boys and chose to ignore that they'd caught the toddlers very clearly in the midst of building catapults out of toys from the child care aimed at the door.

 

“Hello, you must be Natasha's Little Monsters,” Bobbi said, “I'm Bobbi, and this is Hunter. If we promise to stay out of the way of your building of siege weaponry, do you mind if we do our exercises in here?”

 

Hunter grinned, almost evilly, “Or we can help you with your catapults?”

 

Colin and Caddell conferred briefly in Gaelic, Hunter valiantly doing his best not to let on that he understood every word. One of them paused and glared up at the agents, “You know NatMonster? What's her favorite cookie?”

 

Bobbi almost giggled, no wonder Nat adored these boys, they were as paranoid as she was and as troublesome as Clint, controlling her face to be as serious as the boys, “Clint's snicker-doodles, of course. But only the snicker-doodles made by Clint.”

 

Nodding solemnly, because that was the correct answer, the twins turned as one and pulled from a bag underneath a pile of toys for catapult parts, several bags of water balloons, and several rather large bottles of bright blue and greed craft paints, offering the supplies up to the agents.

 

“You want the water balloons filled with paint?”

 

At their nod, Hunter's grin grew. He _liked_ the way these kids thought. “Excellent. I'll get started on the green ones then.”

The boys nodded and returned to their catapults, securing large bottomed, shallow baskets to the end away from the door with jump ropes.

 

\---

 

Ciara Harrow finished up her mission around the same time Strike Team Delta finished theirs, so the quinjet carrying Delta home simply stopped to pick her up, too, no need for a second 'jet to be sent out when one would do. Clint, who was quickly becoming a brother to Ciara, was bouncy, giddy, and trying to hide something. Ciara considered him for a moment before turning to Nat, who was lounging in her seat, seemingly unconcerned with anything except consuming her lollipop with relish.

 

“He has the boys' presents on the 'jet, doesn't he?”

 

“I don't know how he is a secret agent when he's horrible at lying and hiding things.”

 

Ciara sighed, “Coulson sent out a list of approved and banned presents. I hope you're abiding by it, Clint. I really don't want to have to take presents away from the boys.”

 

Clint pouted, it was less effective than he hoped, “It's not _banned_...” he whined.

 

Nat and Ciara shared a _look_ and Ciara groaned. The party was definitely going to be chaos.

 

\---

 

In the gym, catapults were finished, tested, moved to maximize their chance of hitting, armed, and loaded. The trigger wires twined and connected to a smallish cylinder block, ready to be slid into the door handle when the twins knew their targets were approaching. Colin stood, claymore at the ready, off to the side of the door while Caddell kept watch on the hall through the barely-cracked door.  
  
Bobbi and Hunter had contained their giggles and were sparring on the mats, though they were less effective than usual as half of their attentions were watching the boys' and their prank. Bobbi may have taken a picture of the catapults and the boys waiting for a “Cúl Tóna” and texted it to Nat.

 

Soon, the _dulcet_ tones of Rumlow and Rollins arguing about something drifted down the hall, steadily approaching the door. Caddell pushed the door shut all the way and slid the trigger into place, picking up his sword and hurrying to his place beside the door opposite Colin. Bobbi and Hunter slowed their sparring so Bobbi could get her phone out and film the coming events.

 

Rumlow and Rollins were outright yelling by the time they reached the door, yanking the doors open so hard they slammed into the walls of the hall. The faces full of lurid blue and green paints silenced them momentarily. The twins took the opportunity to howl and rush the agents, swords swinging surprisingly effectively, Rumlow grunted in pain and Rollins fell over as the boys ran past and disappeared around a corner, laughing all the way.

 

Bobbi and Lance were laughing so hard they had doubled over as Bobbi sent the film to Nat, Clint, and Coulson.

 

\---

 

Coulson couldn't decide if hilarity or exasperation was most warranted as he took his phone in to Fury's office, both the corners of his mouth and his left eye twitching.  
  
Fury looked at Coulson for a solid 30 seconds before groaning and burying his face in his hands.  
  
“What have the devils done now?”

 

“It appears Rollins and Rumlow are in need of some more remedial training. Agent Morse just sent me this video.”

 

“...How did they get those toys up to the gym?”

 

“No idea.”

  
“Who taught them how to make catapults?”

 

“No idea.”

 

“Why didn't Morse and Hunter stop this?”

 

“...Lance Hunter _stop_ a good prank? That's like asking Clint and Natasha to _stop_ the boys doing something like this. At best, they were too busy laughing. At worst, they _helped_.”

 

“...The party is in two days. Then another four days of clean up. Can you find me an excuse to transfer STRIKE to a different base by then? Somebody is going to kill someone if I keep STRIKE and the Harrows and Co. in the same building much longer.”

 

“I can try, but it's not likely. Best I might be able to do is find a semi long term mission to send them on.”

 

“Do it.”

 

\---

 

The party went off without a hitch, though exactly as chaotic as expected with the Harrow Family & Associates, the child care agents and the children, and SCIDiv taking over the cafeteria, and whatever Security agents and assorted others filtering through with presents and merriment as time permitted them.

 

The cooks made a gigantic “cake” for the boys that was half huge chocolate chip cookie and half brownie, decorated in blue and green, with two candles for each of them.

 

By nightfall, the cafeteria was in shambles and every person who had been on day shift or at the party that day was bone tired. Fully half of the children were sprawled in random, often ridiculous, places asleep wherever they had crashed.

 

Agent Harrow cataloged the boys' loot and internally debated how she was going to get it all home. Before she could say anything, Clint and Phil began gathering it all up into neat piles and Nat scooped up one of the sleepy boys. Phil smiled at the stunned look on Ciara's face.

 

“Come on, I'll drive you home. Do you need someone on watch?”

 

“Um, no, thank you. We should be alright,” Ciara stuttered as she gathered up her other boy and their day bag, following Phil out.

 

\---

 

If she woke up the next morning to Nat and Clint on her couch, the twins already dressed for the day and eating breakfast....

Well, she'd never tell anyone. The softies.

 

\---

 

Second Birthday Loot: 

 

 **From Bobbi Morse:** A collection of DVDs including The Court Jester, Brave, Willow, Dragonheart, Robin Hood, Monsters Inc, Princess Bride, and ALL of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.

 

 **From** **Lance Hunter:** A pair of stuffed animal night lights because he has no idea how you shop for children so he just told the lady at the store he was shopping for twin two year old boys who liked blue and green and bought what she told him they would like, because he is kinda clueless about the boys.  


 

 **From Melinda May:** ALL of the Dr. Seuss books.

 

 **From Sharon Carter:** Kindle tablets preloaded with several games and videos.

 

 **From Phil Coulson:** Agenty suits (though with sky blue shirt & royal blue tie on one, and mint green shirt & emerald blue tie on the other) made of the same ballistics fabric his own suits are made of.  
A pair of totally ordinary looking green and blue monster back-packs (like those teddy-bear ones, only monster shaped) with secret compartments in the ears/horns, all the paws, and one in the lining of the body.  The main back pack part isn't secret, but the others are all carefully hidden.  There is a small treat (like a candy-cane or a soft toy) in each compartment to reward them when they find how to open them.

 

 **From Nick Fury:** Blacklight-visible ink markers for making invisible notations that can write on any surface and only washes off with a special spray he gives their mom (for safety reasons) and sized down black-light flashlights to read them with.

 

 **From the Security Team:** Com sets already programmed with Security's channel, a private channel between the two, and a channel Harrow Club adults can tune their coms to when on base.  
Combat pants and t-shirt replicas of the Security uniform shirts.  
Combat belts with all the requisite holsters and pouches.

 

 **From SCIDiv:** Combat ready miniaturized copies of Clint's uniform, but with blue/green accents instead of purple.  
Blue/Green Monster hoodies lined with ballistics fabric and ultra-soft microfiber fleece.  
Paintball downsized replicas of Nat's preferred hand guns (without the contact paralytic...this year) and a Nat-on-a-mission sized 3 month supply of ammunition.

 

 **From Natasha Romanov:** Mostly dull small throwing knives (two full sets).  
Mostly un-powered shock gloves.  
(And candy. Lots of candy. Shhhhh.)

 

 **From Clint Barton:** Archery gloves in green and blue.  
Child-sized compound bows, quivers, and arrows.  
(And vent crawling lessons. Shhhhhhhhhhh.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _detskiye monstry_ : Russian, 'baby monsters'


	8. Not a Chapter, Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recent events have completely sucked dry my ability to write for the moment. I watched V for Vendetta instead.

A comic book movie about a Dystopia should not be so very on the money that the dystopia's fall brings you to tears.... And yet....  
That's probably actually terrifying for most people.   
Chancelor Sutler's rise to power was an awful lot like Trump's campaign. Valerie's autobiography an awful lot like what many of my trans friends are actually afraid of happening. how it all plays out a little too close to how it COULD.... and the entire city turning out to bring in a new Era... The best ending possible, and I had to fight back tears at the hope of it... and that hope is sparked by explosives. And, frankly, that's a nauseating thought, even for a pyro like me, that "Well, if worse comes to worst, there's always the option of explosions" counts as "hope". If you don't think last night was a tragedy of epic proportions... I envy your naivety and optimism.  
Last night the news crews focused on thousands at protests all over the country. Today, millions more stayed home, cowering in terror, wondering just how long their rights, all the way up to and including the right to live, would survive.  
No news station will report on this.  
To those of you at home and afraid:  
You are not alone.  
<3 Be safe, friends.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BairnSidhe insisted on some of this, and I do have to agree. Also, she wrote much of Agent Cervantes' conversation with Fury. Blame her. :P
> 
> [Edit 02/16/2017: fixed continuity errors]

Fury nursed his single malt scotch old enough to drink itself and stayed close to his phone. He very much expected there to be trouble, thank you. He's not an idiot. He'd managed to get away with only sending Ciara on 24 to 48 hour missions that coincided with Strike Team Delta being home for months, but he was starting to get flak from the WSC on how he was “spending his resources.” He'd mostly managed to argue out of it on the grounds that “as useful as Agent Harrow is in the field, it is more apropos to have her on base as much as possible” but he had to give somewhere or they'd start asking... less than desirable questions. So Ciara was gone for three days as of – he checked his watch – one hour ago. Delta wouldn't be back for another three hours, and since The Catapult Incident (caps absolutely necessary), there had been a rash of prank-like traps all over the building but only ever catching Strike & Field agents and the occasional asshole from another department that no one questioned deserved it in full.

 

And Hill, that one time. She was pissed as all fuck.

 

He suspected Clint and/or Natasha, probably helping the twins, but he couldn't prove it. If he could, all four would be in for a world of hurt and he wouldn't even have to do anything... just tell Maria.

 

There was the artificially raised floor throughout all of the 17th floor, grading slowly down to normal around the elevator, just to put a pit trap in the Level 6+ rec room. Specifically, a pit trap filled with water balloons filled with neon pink paint.

 

There was the hallway to the conference room the STRIKE team used for briefings, which had nerf guns in all of the vents, each trigger tied to fishing line, which was run diagonally down the wall to random heights before crossing the hall as a trip wire where the guns were aimed.

 

Then the cage that dropped out of the ceiling in the rec room the Level 5 Specialists liked to congregate in whenever someone approached the vending machine. It had 2 layers, a large one blocking access to the vending machine and a smaller one keeping the person who triggered it too far away to reach the vending machine.

 

The obstacle course that mysteriously appeared in the hall to the Level 6+ gun range where everything you had to do to get across it resulted in getting shot with a paintball gun. Hill had pink, blue, purple, and green paint on her somewhere for a week. (Nat crossed it 6 times that day with nary a mark on her. No one could figure out how she did it. She dodged.)

 

The gun cage that hit you with a sword whenever it was opened.

 

All of them coincided with one of Agent Harrow's missions. Needless to say, the next three days would be... interesting.

 

\---

 

Director Fury had exactly fifteen more minutes with his scotch before the Code came over the PA. He sighed and picked up his phone.  
  
“Eighty-five minutes exactly since Agent Harrow left. May be a new record of good behavior for them. When does Delta get back? I see, keep me advised.”

 

\---

  
As the Code Chartreuse came over the PA system, several groans echoed throughout the cafeteria. Kitchen staff scrambled to secure all desserts but a few, as agents everywhere stood, getting ready to secure the area.  
  
Agent Ward looked about him, confused, then hurried to follow Rumlow.

 

“What's going on?” he asked.  
  
  
“Code Chartreuse, didn't you get the memo a few months ago?”  


“I was on assignment out of the Sandbox till last week,” Ward denied.  
  
  
“Oh, you're in for some...interesting times, then. Harrow's twin brats are spoiled rotten, escape the Child Care center and get away with murder. Nobody can be arsed to discipline the brats, so every time whatever idiot is in charge of child care this week loses track of them, the whole building has to go into lockdown until we find them.”  
  
  
“Harrow has kids? Whose brilliant idea was it to let that lunatic have kids? It's a wonder they haven't exploded yet.”  
  
  
“Work with her before did you?”

  
“Not by choice. Can't figure why they let pretty bits who'd whine about breaking a nail in the field.”

  
“A-fucking-men. Can't figure why she still has a job anyways. Near three years ago, goes out on an undercover mission, comes back pregnant.”

  
“Slept with her mark?”  


“Way I figure, she's also sleeping with Coulson. Or Fury. Only way a slut like her could get close to a target, only way to keep her job after. Not like she has any other actual skills. Uppity though. Us poor slobs ain't good 'nough for her.”  


“Perhaps someone needs to teach her her place.”  


“Perhaps. I like the way you think, Ward. This floor's clear, lock it down, and we'll move on to the next one.”  
  
\---

 

In the vent just above the two agents, two pairs of eyes glinted sharply. Somebody definitely needed to learn their place...and it wasn't any woman who did.

 

\---

 

If, an hour later, the sounds of explosions rang through the locker room, no one saw anything, and the security cameras caught nothing. Rumlow's insistence that “those brats bombed his locker” went ignored. How would a pair of two year olds even know how to make pressure bombs? Never mind know how to get into a locker and which one was HIS...And Ward's. Maybe they pissed someone off?  
  
Rumlow was ...particularly taxing in training that day, his team was beat and cranky within three hours.  


If at that time, Rumlow and Ward opened their new lockers to be shot with paintball guns... Well “those brats” definitely couldn't have done it, they'd been down in the ChatterBox jabbering away in Russian and Gaelic for three and a half hours – well before those lockers were assigned to the agents.

 

If old Mrs. Calhoun, the only translator in the Box fluent in the Highland dialects, smiled rather sharply and far more frequently than usual... Well, she was a cantankerous old biddy, and a bit of a language snob. The boys speaking HER languages so well probably just justified her snobbery to her, when everyone else insisted that there was little point in maintaining fluency in nearly-dead languages. She certainly didn't turn a particularly fox-like grin at Rumlow and Ward, whom she'd certainly not suddenly stopped adressing properly as Agents as she insisted on doing with everyone else. Clearly, you're imagining things.  


The Chatterers had set up a small table for the polyglot boys, with paper from the printer and crayons from someone's bag (kid's meals are awesome, shut up.) If some of their doodles accidentally got scooped into reports... no one would notice. Not like it mattered much anyways. They're just doodles.

  
Agent Hernandez was charmed by the little boy in green flirting with her skillfully in perfect Argentinian Spanish.

  
Agent Cardona was enthralled with the careful and observant questions from the little boy in blue spoken in clear, precise Catalan.  


Agent Viska was damned near gleeful about the Russian insults they both threw at the screens whenever the field agents there were being dumb.  


Agent Verona just about fell out of his chair when they told him in Mandarin that his assigned agent was the son of a motherless goat.

 

Rumlow stormed off. If none of the ChatterBox agents could see the devils sitting with them, let them deal with the Chaos to follow on their own.

 

When he got back upstairs to his locker and passed out as he opened it, to wake up to a fantastic sharpie handlebar mustache, he couldn't even blame them to himself, he'd SEEN them down in the ChatterBox, how could they have stolen contact knockout drugs from SCI-Div and gotten up to his locker to coat the handle before him? They couldn't, no way about it.  


Plotting angrily how to discover his pranker and get back at them, he went to report the incidents to Coulson. He didn't even think about Barton and Romanov leaving Coulson's office with the Terrors as he approached, nor notice the slight smile that steadily grew across Coulson's face as he ranted, sharpie mustache still firmly in place.

  
  
Coulson, bland as ever, waited patiently for a break in Rumlow's rant and calmly said, “We are aware of the problem, it's being investigated. Appropriate action will be taken as soon as possible. Is there anything else you need?”

 

Rumlow huffed and left.

  
  
The next time he saw Agent Ward, the younger agent had a sharpie monacle and a curled mustache and pointed beard, all of which was firmly refusing to be scrubbed off.

 

\---

 

“Agent Jackson, Agents Codano, Cervantes, and Watson returned from their missions today. Find them and get them here for follow up questions about their reports. And advise Agent Harrow that when she lands, I'll need to see her.”

 

\---

 

“You asked to see me, Director?”  
  
“Agent Cervantes. Have a seat.” Fury sighed, looking up from a stack of reports mysteriously contaning crayon writing. He paused in thought long enough that the agent across his desk started squirming. “Agent, can you tell me why you started a heated debate of women's Olympic soccer in a bid to escape a Colombian drug runner's camp?”  
  
“Um... Well, it was in the notes? Sir. The ones that have been getting added to the reports from Chatter? I don't know who you have in there, but they make good observations, even if it is in color coded crayon.”

 

“This portion of the notes, Cervantes?”

 

“Yes, sir. They're surprisingly useful.”

 

“The green is from Colin Harrow. The blue is written by Caddell Harrow. Apparently, the toddlers have been spending some of their escape time in the ChatterBox, and no one noticed that the 'doodles' that got mixed in with the reports were anything else. Were you aware of this?”  


“No, sir, I was not, but it somehow doesn't surprise me. Request permission to never find out how they learned this nonsense?”

 

Fury sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Request granted. Tell me, though, why did you follow advice clearly written by children?”

 

Agent Cervantes fidgeted and pulled at his tie. “Well, Sir, I didn't have much to lose, and I figure Barton and Romanov tend to win by going with the crazy.”

 

“...Very well. Dismissed. Send the next one in.” Fury opened his third bottle of scotch and wrote a memo to himself to put in for this month's Not My Monkeys award.

  
  
“Sir?”

  
  
“Agent Watson. Come in.”

 


	10. Adventures with Carter, pt.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will have so much dialogue in so many languages, many of which do NOT have an efficient translation method, that once things start happening, I won't be translating back and forth, rather I have simply written in English and adjusted the font.  
> This Chapter:  
>  **bold font** is Russian  
>  _italics_ are Kalderash.
> 
> I really am trying to be as accurate as I can, but the Rroma are...notoriously difficult to get truthful information on. I understand why, history has not been kind to them, but it makes it quite difficult to portray them without bias, simply because unbiased facts are hard to come by. If I did something wrong in my writing and someone with ACTUAL life experience with Rrom traditions, histories, belief systems, etc, catches it, PLEASE CORRECT ME. 
> 
> The Rroma are one of the most hideously treated victims of racism in all of history, only Jews really keep up with them historically speaking, and I'm not sure any other people are treated as poorly as Rroma often are in contemporary societies. Some of these things will be talked of and even occur on screen as a natural part of HAVING Rrom characters in Europe. Don't like it? Neither does anybody with both brain and heart functioning, and yet, it still actually happens, and I refuse to not mention it just because it's uncomfortable. It's real. Deal.

“I swear to fucking god, Fury, pick up your motherfucking phone. I want a full month of paid leave, an excessively large Starbucks gift card and a REALLY nice present. Just Forty-Eight hours, my ass. If you don't get Delta to my coordinates NOW, you won't have a SHIELD to come back TO. There is a Chartreuse and Red Hat and it is EXACTLY as terrifying as it sounds. Get Me some Goddamned backup!”

 

\---

 

_38 hours earlier:_   
  


“Goddamned mutherfucking...” Fury grumbled, pinching his nose. “Jackson! Get Agent 13 in my office NOW.”  
  
Jackson did NOT fall out of his chair this time....he'd put in for one with arms for that very reason. “Yes, sir.”

 

\---

 

“Director?”  
  
“Carter, thank God.”  
  
“Sir?”

 

“The WSC has been on my ass about not using my assets 'appropriately'. Trying to buy time, I've sent everybody out on missions.”

 

“Everybody, sir?”

 

“Coulson and May, Morse and Hunter, Barton and Romanov.... Harrow...”

 

“Oh. I haven't heard a Code Chartreuse yet, sir.”

 

“That's because they're in my study, which is also the panic room somebody insisted I had to have.”

 

“And you need me, becaaaause?”

 

“The WSC is now demanding I attend a meeting. In Person. In London.” He watched the dawning realization - and horror – cross Sharon's face. “I have to leave in less than half an hour.”

 

“Sir, I'm fine with them for a few hours, but I've never had to handle them solo for longer than...”  
  
“Just 48 hours, Sharon, Delta should be back by then, I've told them to put a rush on it and be back by then. This is the key to Agent Harrow's house. You're officially on leave for the next week, but you'll get double hazard pay for the full week, not just the 48 hours you're on twin duty. Take them home. Keep them there. Try to keep them from killing themselves. If possible, keep them from killing anyone else too, but I'll understand if it happens...so long as it doesn't happen here. I'm off, have fun.”  
  


“Sir-”

 

“Enjoy your leave.”

 

“SIR...”

 

“Bye!”

 

“...Shit.”

 

\---

 

Sharon managed to get the boys and their things, order up a car with car seats installed, get them loaded up, home, fed them lunch, entertained them till dinner, fed them dinner, got them bathed and in bed and even to sleep with surprisingly few problems. Of course, her hair had paint and macaroni in it, chocolate milk on her shirt, ketchup stains on her good pants, she had bags under her eyes that looked large enough to hold her mother's entire “weekend in the Hamptons” luggage, there was not enough coffee or whiskey in the world, and she was more tired than she had been after six weeks in a battlefield, but no major incidents occurred. She figured she could count it as a success.

 

Of course... That was the moment her phone rang. The HERO one. She'd have ignored the personal one, maybe even the SHIELD one, frankly, she was thinking about ignoring this one, too. Maybe call into work dead. That sounded like a plan... The phone stopped ringing and she sighed in relief. Maybe she could sleep tonight after all. Nope. It was ringing again. Damn.

 

Groaning, she rolled off the couch and opened her phone. “This had better be fucking important. I'm on fucking leave.”  
  
She listened for a moment to the frantic voice of the agent on the other line babbling about not being able to reach anybody and rolled her eyes. Baby Agents. Even a more-secret-than-yours secret agency had them. “Get to the point. Now.”

 

She really only needed the next sentence to be fully awake...and entirely hating the world.  
  
“Red Hat has run off without backup... again.”

 

“Fuck.” She let the baby agent go back to his ramble about no one else being available so that she could bang her head repeatedly on the coffee table.  
  
“Fine. I'm on it. I need a quinjet, her coordinates, as close to real time as possible, a gallon of coffee, cream and sugar....better make it espresso, the kind we don't let SCI-Div have, a mini fridge full of snacks and juice boxes, and every dessert you can convince Caf to part with. Then go get SCI-Div to give you whatever extra toys they have for the Harrow twins currently in stock. Put it All on the quinjet.”

 

“The Harrow Twins, ma'am?”

 

“Did I stutter? Harrow is on a mission and as you noted, no one else is available. Now do it. And don't forget the fucking coffee or you'll be in Antarctica for a year.”

 

“Yes, ma'am, right away, ma'am.”

 

Carter closed her phone, and considered throwing it in the microwave.  
  
“I JUST got them to sleep, too....”

 

\---

 

They caught up to Peggy Carter at the Philadelphia International Airport, where a surly TSA agent was glaring suspiciously at the old woman pretending to be rather more senile than she actually was. Sharon took stock quickly: paint-hair? Macaroni? Ketchup stains? Twin toddlers? Well...at least it was a cover she could work with...  
  
She whispered briefly to the boys, and then dropped their hands and hollered.

 

“AUNT PEGGY! There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!” she and the boys ran up to the TSA agent, The boys setting up a hullabaloo worthy of seeing their favorite great aunt back from a trip, shouting for “Aunt Peg” as they galloped in for hugs from a woman they'd never met.  
  
Pretending to be out of breath, Sharon caught the agent's arm and frisked him briefly. “Oh, my, thank you, sir, for helping my great aunt. Aunt Peggy, did your hip replacements set off the metal detectors again? I told you to make sure your brought your paper work for that. Come on, the car's this way, all your favorites already in stock. Boys, let go of your aunt, how do you expect her to get to the car with you grabbing her legs like that? Toddlers, I swear. Well thank you again, sir. Do you have everything, Peg? How was London?”

 

A corner of Peggy's mouth twitched up, her eyes bright with merriment at the show Sharon and the twins put on, “Fine, all fine, dear. My, how you boys have grown! Look at you! If you be good all the way back to the car, I'll give you each a candy, what do you say? Yes? Yes. Very good. Susan, be a dear, and grab my bag, would you? Which way did you say the car was?”

 

“This way, Peggy. Now, Colin, you know better than to go climbing railings, get down. Let's go to the car!”

 

The poor, dumbfounded TSA agent stared after them as if a freight train had just run him over in the middle of the ocean.

 

Peggy waited until they were around the corner and out of sight...barely.   
“Alright, Sharon, I'm not THAT senile yet, I know full well that you haven't made me a Great Grand Aunt yet, however disappointing that is, who are these young gentlemen? And what is Nicholas in a tizzy about now?”  
  
“The answer to both questions is mostly the same. The Council are being picky again. Nick has gotten into the habit of keeping one of four teams on hand at HQ at all times, rotating them out as needed, but at least one at home. The Council feel that he isn't using his assets appropriately. That's a quote. So he sent all four teams out on missions, planning to watch these two himself, as their mother is one of those four, only then the Council demanded he go to a meeting, in person, in London. Last time these two didn't have someone cleared to deal with them on hand to babysit them while Agent Harrow was on assignment...well there was explosions, paint, and knock-out drugs involved. As the last person cleared to watch them available, I got them. And not twelve hours later, some poor baby agent calls on the HERO line, panicking because you went off without back up or any kind of notice – again – and no one's answering because all the people cleared to follow you around and make sure you don't die from surprise numbers, or something, are also all the same people cleared to watch them. So. Babysitting on the go. Quinjet's here. New model. Cloaking device. I'm officially 'test driving' it over enemy territory. So, where are we off to today, Aunt Peg?”

 

“Russia, dear. All of them? Even that nice young man...Barton?”

 

“Unca Clin' an' NatMonster are in Somalia,” Colin piped up

 

“Oh, Phil?”

 

“Unca Phil an' Aun' May had 't go to Paraguay,” replied Caddell.

 

“Bobbi?”

 

“Tokyo,” answered Sharon.

 

“Silly Lance wen' wif her,” Colin verified.

 

“That lovely red-headed girl with the bombs? Reminded me a lot of Dernier...”

 

“...They won' tell us where Mamma gits sent. Don' wan' us tryin' to go help,” Caddell said sullenly.

 

“That makes rather a lot of sense actually. What are your names then?”

 

“'M Caddell. Noisy one's Colin.”

 

“Not noisy. YOU do distrac'ons, I hit people when they ain' lookin. You noisy,” Colin argued, mouth full of cookie as he pointed vehemently at his brother with the other half.

 

“Buckle in boys. Just like in the car. Where in Russia, Aunt Peggy?” Sharon interrupted, before they could devolve into demonstrations of their skills.

 

“Irkutsk, dear. Where's that coffee?”

 

“To your left. Irkutsk. Siberia. In February.” Sharon sighed, “Could be worse, I suppose. Could be Batagay. Before you even say it, Peg, NO. Wait for a day I don't have the boys. Their coats are NOT rated for above the arctic circle. Certainly not in February when, if we're optimistic, the daily high temperature MIGHT hit negative forty Celsius. NO.”

 

“Fine. Spoilsport.”

 

“Boys, how many regional dialects of Russian do you know?”

 

“ _Regional_ Russian? Sharon, what -”

 

“They spend almost as much time correcting the ChatterBox's translations of idioms and dialect differences as they do pranking STRIKE and charming toys out of SCI-Div. I'm not sure anyone bothers keeping track of how many languages they know, never mind dialects.”

 

Peggy blinked in surprise, then looked at the boys, who appeared to be doing calculations.  
  
“Dunno, 'Ronnie, where's Irtusk onna map?” Colin asked, “That'd make tellin you if we know the one you need us to easier.”

 

Sharon seemed a bit startled, too, as she scrambled to pull up a map on her phone. “Here. By this lake.”

 

“Huh.” Caddell pondered, rubbing his nose, “Ye wan' Russian, Halh, Tuva, Tatar, Evenki, Khori, or Kalderash?”

 

“Caddeeeelll,” Colin hissed, “We're no' s'posed to know anyfin' wif less'n ten thous'n speakers!”

 

“....Oh. Yeah. ….Russian, Tuva, Tatar, Khori, or Kalderash?”

 

Peggy, pale and shaking, pulled a flask from her purse and took a rather large gulp, before passing it to Sharon, who did the same and capped it.  
“Sharon, how secure are we?”

 

“Ramp is closed, I turned the zapper on as soon as we left HQ and haven't turned it off since.”

 

“Good. Boys, I'm very serious now, how do you know so many languages and who knows about it?”

 

Wide-eyed and scared, tearing up a bit, Colin answered “Mamma said izza secret. The bad people would hunt everybody down and 'sper'men' on them iffin they knew.”

 

Caddell shook his head.

 

“Were you born with it?” Peggy insisted.  
  
Caddell gulped and nodded, Colin started crying quietly in truth, and Sharon pulled him into her lap, “You're not in trouble with us,” she soothed, “we want to make sure you aren't in trouble with anybody else either, and that you don't _get_ in trouble by accident. Now, what languages have you used in the ChatterBox?”

 

Colin gulped and, between sniffs, listed, “English, Spanish – Castilian, Mexican, and Argentinian, Catalan, Mandarin, Moscow Russian, Celtic and Gaelic.”

 

“Okay, that's good. Everyone knows your mamma speaks those languages fluently. When we head home, until your mamma tells you otherwise, that's ALL you know, understand?” Sharon waited for their nods and continued, “And I think you should cut down your visits to the ChatterBox. Once or twice a week only, and not all day either. For this trip, you may use Russian, Tuva, or Kalderash, whichever seems best at the time. All clear? Good.”

 

Peggy, softer, but still serious, made eye contact with both boys, “I'm sorry I scared you, but I needed to be sure you were safe. Can you forgive me for scaring you?”

 

Caddell gave Peggy a tight hug as Colin sniffled and nodded, and, more verbal than Caddell at the moment, assured, “Мы прощаем вас. К сожалению, мы не были более осторожными. Мы сделаем лучше, обещаю.” (We forgive you. We're sorry we weren't more cautious. We'll do better, promise.)

 

\---

 

The quinjet landed in the outskirts of Irkutsk, Russia in no time at all, which Sharon was less than enthused about, as it meant her nap was rather shorter than she'd like. She finished off the gallon of coffee as the other three woke and readied themselves for the cold outside.

 

If she'd been less tired, she might have thought to review what “toys” SCI-Div had sent along and frisk the boys for contraband... as it was, they managed to secret quite a bit on their persons as Peggy watched with a smile and Sharon tried, and mostly failed, to clean paint from her hair and changed into locally appropriate garb.

 

\---

 

Tatiana Doverskya was worrying about the neighbor again. Grigor could tell: she always pulled at her lips when worried, and she kept looking out the window at the other house.

 

“ **Tatiana,”** he began, **“You're worrying again.”**

 

“ **She does not go out. Her family does not visit. Do you think they are unkind?”**

 

“ **Tanechka. Stop. If her family is unkind, Ekaterina will tell us in her own time. Have you considered that maybe she does not have a family?”**

 

“ **If she was an orphan, wouldn't she have told us?”**

 

“ **Tanechka, regimes rise and fall every day, we know this. When they do, they leave orphans behind. Some blame orphans for parents on the 'wrong side'. Why would she tell us? She has only been our neighbor a few years.”**

 

“ **....I'm going to go bake some cookies.”**

 

“ **That is a wise idea, my Tanushka.”**

 

Grigor went calmly back to his tea and paper, it would likely be a late night tonight as is, without worrying about what his wife was getting up to this time. As ever, she would mother everyone she met to death and stuff them full of cookies. She seemed to think that if there were still cookies, then all would be right with the world.

 

...They WERE good cookies.

 

\---

 

Warren pondered the past year with the family that had all but adopted him and the job that set him into their path as he drove the rickety old RV into the outskirts of Irkutsk. Half of his job had been completed quickly and was almost laughable. Someone had pointed to the kumpania that traveled from Beijing to Vienna and back every year and claimed they were smuggling. They were, of course, but contraband books and films supporting free thinkers into anti-thought countries and refugees out was hardly a matter for SHIELD to be involved in. The second half, though... The Roma were hard to trace, half of them either had no records at all, had records only in countries they mostly weren't in, or went through records like a family of ten goes through toilet paper. Once you throw the constant traveling in, no one knew who was where and when. They were easy targets for human traffickers, and when they weren't in town, missing tourists and other soft targets went up in number. He chewed his lip as he considered breaking SHIELD rules. The voivode would probably help him enthusiastically, but he'd have to break cover. The crotchety old man probably already knew Warren was an agenty type person at least, if not SHIELD in specific; he appeared to know just about everything.

 

Warren shook himself out of his thoughts as the caravan approached the campsite behind where they would set up their booths and wares – parking the beast was problematic enough without wool-gathering in the process.

 

\---

 

Nineteen hours after Fury had handed her a set of keys and strolled merrily from his office, Sharon found herself walking through Irkutsk's markets in the pre-dinner rush, trying desperately to keep track of potential threats, two wild, energetic little boys, and her great aunt who had far more energy than any woman in her mid nineties should have (a continuously active lifestyle, titanium joint replacements and surgical ceramic in the spine would do that, turns out), while her brain shouted at her that it was 3 AM, not 4 PM, and it had been a very long day. She had just begun wondering how long it would take Romanoff and Barton to get there from Somalia if she called on their emergency lines, when a ruckus picked up at the booth the boys had gone to check out. She called out for Peggy to come back this way while she got the boys and dove into the crowd around the booth, making use of her smaller size and an occasional elbow to soft places on the bystanders to get through quickly.

 

At the center of the booth, her two smallest charges were, if anyone were smart enough to see it, terrifyingly angry, and pointing....Oh, Lord, SCI-Div gave them crossbows, with... well, she didn't know what kind of darts those were, and she wasn't keen to find out. If they were explosive or tranqs, Ciara'd have her hide before wiping the floor with SCI-Div, plausible deniability was her friend, yes, it was.

 

“ **Boys. Do I want to know what's going on here? And you know the crossbows are supposed to stay home, how did you get them here without me noticing?”**

 

“ _Auntie, The bad man cheats. He miscalculated on purpose, moved the decimal over so this man have to pay ten times what BadMan charges everyone else, just because this man is Rrom. Is food. Is needed.”_ Colin insisted firmly.

 

“ _Rrom has family to feed. Is bad to double price on foods. Is worse to do for just one people. Is worser to ten-times it. Worst when it starves babies. BadMan is Worst Man. We shoot?”_ Caddell added in his quiet voice.

 

Sharon would have buried her face in her hands if that didn't mean taking her eyes off of Terrors 2 and 3, and mentally re-prioritized her to do list, moving 'Call for backup' up to the top.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, guys, I've been super sick for more than a month, and this is only MAYBE half a chapter, and it's longer than any other chapter in here so far. I'll get the next chapter up much faster, I hope. 
> 
> TBC.


	11. Adventures With Carter pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys!
> 
> I know, I said it wouldn't be so long, and then it was. I have little in my defense except losing my brain and some physical woes. Also, RenFaire and Job hunting and arting. But still. I am bad, and I am sorry. As an apology, have over 4000 words with at least one more part to this tale. (We've another 12 and change hours to go.) This one has WAAAAAAY more shenanigans, and a lot of Colin being Colin, Caddell being Caddell, and Sharon losing her marbles.
> 
> Some toys borrowed from BairnSidhe. 
> 
> There is a bit of the last post at the beginning here as a "last time on Code Chartreuse..." so you don't have to go back and reread if you don't want to.
> 
>  **Bold** is Russian  
>  _Italics_ is Kalderash

At the center of the booth, her two smallest charges were, if anyone were smart enough to see it, terrifyingly angry, and pointing....Oh, Lord, SCI-Div gave them crossbows, with... well, she didn't know what kind of darts those were, and she wasn't keen to find out. If they were explosive or tranqs, Ciara'd have her hide before wiping the floor with SCI-Div, plausible deniability was her friend, yes, it was.

 

“ **Boys. Do I want to know what's going on here? And you know the crossbows are supposed to stay home, how did you get them here without me noticing?”**

 

“ _Auntie, The bad man cheats. He miscalculated on purpose, moved the decimal over so this man have to pay ten times what BadMan charges everyone else, just because this man is Rrom. Is food. Is needed.”_ Colin insisted firmly.

 

“ _Rrom has family to feed. Is bad to double price on foods. Is worse to do for just one people. Is worser to ten-times it. Worst when it starves babies. BadMan is Worst Man. We shoot?”_ Caddell added in his quiet voice.

 

Sharon would have buried her face in her hands if that didn't mean taking her eyes off of Terrors 2 and 3, and mentally re-prioritized her to do list, moving 'Call for backup' up to the top.

 

It took some doing – rather more than it should have, actually, due to the Kalderash-speaking, crossbow-wielding toddlers – and quite a bit of internal cussing at racist pricks, but Sharon managed to disperse the crowd, get the boys out of trouble, the shopkeep terrified into charging fair prices for everyone including the Roma, no cops called, nor a child-services case levied against them, and even a minimum of blood on her hands. Punching the shopkeep in the mouth was not the most prudent of ideas, but thoroughly satisfying, especially once he threatened to have the boys taken away because “Gypsy Scum shouldn't be allowed to reproduce.” There were reasons HYDRA had never tried to recruit her, and her name was actually pretty low on that list. If the Roma man clearly had plans to arrange some mischief for the prick, well, the Carter women were unlikely to hinder them. Deserved Chaos is a time-honored tradition for Legacies.

 

Of course, this meant that she'd had her eyes off of her lunatic aunt for rather more time than she had intended, and the elderly, theoretically retired agent was nowhere in sight. Sharon couldn't decide if the sounds of a scuffle around the corner was relieving, because Peggy was certainly in or near there, or terrifying, because Peggy was certainly in or near there, or terrifying, because maybe it was non-Peggy related trouble and she was elsewhere causing trouble, or relieving, because maybe it was just non-Peggy related trouble. And she couldn't quite figure out how to hold on to both boys to keep them out of trouble, have a gun out to keep herself out of trouble, AND dig Peggy out of whatever trouble she had found to occupy herself with while Sharon dealt with the boys. Never mind managing a phone to call for back up.

 

Hoisting Caddell up on her hip and holding Colin's hand with the same arm, Sharon cautiously peeked around the corner, hand on her gun.

 

Oh good. It WAS Peggy-related.

 

Oh, lord. It was Peggy-related.

 

Sighing, Sharon rounded the corner, slammed the nearest person into the wall, looked at Caddell and sternly informed him, **“Just because your Great Aunt does something, does NOT mean you should do it. In fact, if she does it, you don't do it. Ever. Except win. Always win.”**

 

Caddell giggled as Peggy knocked another of the goons out, with her shoe, no less, and the rest simply stopped and stared at the women, baffled entirely.

 

“ **What happened this time, Aunty?”**

 

“ **...I was looking at my map. They were rude.”**

 

“ **...And?”**

 

“ **These two insulted me. That one assaulted the girl over there, she slapped him, and they all got quite cranky about it. I settled it. Now, where's my map? I do hope the wind didn't make off with it...”**

 

***

 

[Somewhere, Gabe Jones just looked up from a book and smiled, sighing, "if I only had my legs," before going back to his story.]

 

***

 

Colin was bored. The WorstMan had been dealt with, 'Ronnie had found Auntie Peg, the RudeBoys had been taught manners, and the aunties were talking. He tried to be good and stay with the others, really, he did, but there were shinies, Russian men talking in hushed voices about having traced... something to Irkutsk, though they weren't really clear on _where_ in Irkutsk, and then he saw the Romano man from earlier walk by with purchases drop something and not notice it, so he followed to return the little box thingie. It was a long walk, but he wasn't bored anymore...

 

***

 

Durriken Calder was a gnarled old man with surprisingly many of his own teeth still in his mouth and a glimmer of intelligent mischief in his eyes. At 84 years old, one would not expect the _voivode_ to be hauling wood for the campfire, which, of course, is exactly what he was doing when Warren gathered the gumption to speak with him.

 

“ _Rai Calder,”_ he began.

 

“ _Sir? Since when does the boy I see call me sir?”_ Durriken groused, pausing to peer at Warren, he nodded, _“Ah, ready to tell me are you? Well, sit.”_

 

“ _Purodad, I am not certain what it is you are expecting me to tell you, but yes, I have much I must say, mostly unpleasant, though I must ask you to hear it out.”_

 

“ _Hear it out? What else would I do, chikni? I suspect much, old I am, blind I am not. Speak, I listen.”_

 

“ _I have told you many truths, Purodad, but also many lies. My name is Warren Peace, I was sent among your vitsa by SHEILD, to help you. I was to keep it secret, but I do not think I can do what I must without your help.”_

 

“ _Hmph. I suspected some such. Better SHEILD than KGB or some other pigheaded gajo police, I suppose. Help us with what, though?”_

 

“ _There is a slave-ring near here. When you are not here, gajo tourists and new arrivals go missing. They show up months later in other countries, mostly as bodies. When you are here, they do not. SHEILD believes your young, girls, mostly, have been going missing along our trails through Irkutsk and Mongolia, though they cannot prove it as you have few if any records. I am to follow the trail, should any go missing, dismantle the ring, and return the slaves home.”_

 

Durriken was silent for some time, his usually mirthful face somber and pensive as he lit the fire. When it crackled merrily and his pipe was lit, only then did he look back up at Warren, who had waited patiently, knowing 'Grandfather' would speak only when ready.

 

“ _We lose less now than when it began. We became unwary. We became prey. I allowed it, thinking dangerous times past, let the children have their fun; fun has oft been rare for our People, the young should have it while they may, I thought. We have learned. Wolves hunt the weakest of the herd. We keep them close, keep them safe, now. I will give you what help I can. More...traditional leaders would not take the girls back, assuming impurity but they are OURS and were only lost through our failures. My failures. I will convene a council tonight. Should you find any alive, Romni or Gajo, we will take them. Prepare wagons for them to live among us, but separate so that they have no need to fear or feel pressured by close company with men. We will do all we can to heal them, and take care of them when they cannot.”_

 

“ _Thank you, Phuro.”_

 

“ _Hmph. Now, Elders' business out of the way, are you going to tell me what has been bothering you? You've been moping since Doomstadt. Your job has nothing to do with it.”_

 

Warren started, then nearly facepalmed. Of course he noticed that. Grandfather that he is, he was still as nosy as an old gajo woman. Warren sighed, _“Nothing of great import, Purodad. I simply saw a statue of my father in Doomstadt. It startled me, he was not a good man, and I don't have fond memories.”_

 

“ _Statue? There are few statues in Doomstadt that are not of Viktor von Doom. My brother's-son is rather too egotistical for his own good. The only one I can remember seeing this year is of my brother Patrin's son, Viktor's cousin. Never did understand why he named the boy Baron.”_

 

“ _...Your brothers'-sons? Father was Doom's cousin?”_

 

“ _Yes, sadly. Patrin and Ferka were younger than I, they did not remember the good days after the Bolsheviks and before Stalin, they barely remembered the hard days of the War. They grew bitter and spurned tradition, as well as kindness. Their sons bear the marks. So...Baron's boy, are you? Hmph. Good to see some good coming back into the line. We'll have to get you married to a good girl.”_

 

“ _PURODAD!”_

 

Durriken's chuckle rumbled all throughout dinner.

 

_***_

 

Debating with Peggy and “Vika” what to do with the unconscious goons and their much more meek conscious friends, Sharon shifted Caddell higher on her hip and rubbed her eyes...and Stopped. She'd used two hands, and hadn't had to let go of a small hand to do so.

 

“Colin?”  
  
Colin wasn't anywhere in sight. Motherfucking fucking fuck. She'd lost Colin. Ciara was going to murder her. Backup. Now. Yes.  
  
A large middle-aged Russian man rounded the far corner as Sharon reached for her phone. Deciding to let her aunt deal with him, backup and Colin much more important than any impending hazard a well-armed, well muscled six-foot-plus man might pose, Sharon tightened her grip on Caddell and turned away to call Fury's cell, and then Clint's emergency line, panic quietly murmuring in the back of her brain.

 

She was in the middle of leaving a third, “language” laden voicemail in Russian, having reached neither Fury, Clint, NOR Natasha, when a large hand came down on her shoulder. Few people chuckle when you almost break their hand, this was one of them, apparently.

 

“ **I am Grigor,”** he rumbled merrily down at her, **“My niece, Vika, and your aunt have told me of your day, and your problem. I owe you, for helping my niece. Come, my wife will welcome you while I have my people look for your lost one. She made cookies today. She does that when she worries. Today she worries for our neighbor, tomorrow she worries for Vika, the day after she worries for our son. Always worrying after someone or other, my wife; plenty of cookies to be had, and always fresh. Come.”**

 

Sharon resolutely DID NOT cry thinking about how the cookie-devouring twin was missing, and this one much preferred brownies.

 

She might have sniffled a bit.

 

***

 

Colin kept up with the Romano man rather well, for a two-and a-half year old, no matter how overburdened the adult man was, most children weary of walking apace within fifteen minutes. Some half hour of following the man had passed when Colin lost sight of him, his shorter legs unable to keep from falling farther and farther behind. Rounding the last corner he'd seen the man take, he found that it didn't matter that he couldn't see the man he sought: he'd arrived at the Roma encampment, certainly someone could direct him right.

 

Of course, things did not go to plan. The sun had set while he walked and it was quite cold. The first fire he approached had only two men, one young, one old, finishing dinner at the fireside. Colin's nose was running from the cold, much to his annoyance, and his teeth jittered, marring his illusions of BigBoy-ness and being the tougher, rougher brother. He tripped over a fallen branch in the darkness – a rookie mistake, in his mind, furthering his frustration with himself – and the two men startled and looked up.

 

Colin bit his lip and straightened his spine, determined to be his Mam's BigLittleMan. He was Not Going To Cry. Dammit, (sorry, Mama) he was a Big Boy.

 

It lasted all of about 45 seconds.

 

And then the familiar-looking young man was bending down to him, asking him what he was doing here, in Gaelic, calling him GreenMonster and asking where Blue was. And everything spilled out, tears and words and frustrations with being cold and the branch and Unca Clin' woulda never had shivvers or tripped or misplaced the Aunties and he'd lost the man who'd dropped the thingie he was trying to return and had probably missed dinner and Caddell was eating cookies. WITHOUT him. Inna warm house with blue curtains and the aunties. And he'd made the aunties worried and he really, REALLY didn't mean to.

 

Next thing he knew, he was bundled up next to the fire on the GoodAgent's lap, surrounded by half the camp's Ma's and Gramma's as the man (Kaven, his name was Kaven) explained the events at the booth while warm, yummy food appeared from nowhere just for Colin.

 

Maybe he didn't have to be big just yet. War's lap was comfy.

 

***

 

Ekaterina always knew when her neighbor was worrying. She baked. Who she was worrying about always showed up in just WHAT she baked, as it was always that person's favorite, so when she smelled Tatiana's red velvet cream cheese and dark chocolate cookies wafting across the side yards, she closed down her computer and went to reassure the motherly woman next door that she was fine. It might've been trying, except that Tatiana's baking could probably be used to get even Papa to talk willingly about...anything, really, it was just that good. If she was baking for you, you just did not “take a pass.” You'd have to be crazy. Well, crazier than even her family was.

 

They spent the next hour or so talking over coffee and decadent desserts. Tatya was reassured, and back to merrily begging Katenka to marry one of her boys. Any of them, really, even the married one, Tatya wasn't picky, and apparently liked Katenka better than her current daughter-in-law anyways. That wasn't saying much actually, most people liked a scorpion in their bed better than Oksana. Katenka was just getting ready to wiggle her way out of dinner with her neighbors so she could get back to arranging herself an extraction before the KGB figured out where in Irkutsk, exactly, she was. She may have done some technically illegal things, but not even Mama would have a problem with their somewhat ambiguous morality... It's not like the warlord was actually going to spend that aid-money on the people he was nominally responsible for, and his password was actually “PaSsWoRd” he was ASKING for the money to be stolen. And she gave 85% of it to the actual people's needs, anyways. Totally OK. By family standards, at least, and she, frankly, had stopped caring what Materi Russia thought somewhere around the time they decided hackers weren't what they particularly wanted from their assassin programs most after all, and ordered her execution.

 

And just as she had rounded the third “are you sure you don't?” corner and was headed for home base of the front door.... Grigor and Vika walked in, with guests. The little blonde woman looked … well, like she hadn't slept in 24 hours and had spent most of it with particularly rambunctious toddlers, one of which was on her hip. Katenka generally did not do well with children. She was not childproof and kid friendly. She cussed like her mama and had as many sharp and pointy things as her papa, and had even less idea what to do with small things than the rest of her sisters did.... She edged slowly away from the quiet and curious child. The door closing drew her attention to the last guest.

 

“ **....Tante Margarethe? You're earlier than expected. How was the flight from Bergamo?”**

 

“ **Drafty, and the Swiss Alps were as unpleasant as your Papa always swore they were.”**

 

“ **Why are you here rather than at my place, or where I said I'd pick you up?”**

 

“ **Your cousin had to unexpectedly watch her sister's twin boys, and while we dealt with some ill-mannered idiots hassling Vika, one of them wandered off. Grigor has kindly offered to help find him.”**

 

Tatiana, who had been fussing over Sharon and Caddell, who tried very hard to pronounce her name only to come out with Tatni, suddenly became very.... Tatiana. **“Well. THAT just won't do. Grigor, you get on with finding the boy, I am baking. And getting Sarron some hot chocolate. I want him home before I am done baking. Now, my dear, I must know, what is your favorite dessert?”**

 

Caddell made a moue, like he wanted to say only his... but, **“Brownies with chocolate chips and nuts in, but my brother likes chocolate chip cookies best. Sometimes Mama makes a pan of brownies, that's all cookie dough on one side and brownies on the other. We like that most. Because both at once and no one has to wait longer.”**

 

“ **Would you like to help me bake cookies for your brother?”**

 

“ **...Yes, please, Tatni.”**

 

***

 

Caddell settled in to eat some of the red cookies while they waited for the brownies and chocolate chip cookies to bake. The red cookies were strange, but delicious. Brownies were still his favorite, he was determinedly loyal to his loves, and he did love brownies, but the red cookies were a close second.

 

The Aunties were worried. He wasn't sure why, Colin was fine. The Roma were nice and keeping him warm and fed, and there were even desserts, stranger than the red cookies desserts, but also yummy. He figured it was an adult thing and focused on hoarding some of the red cookies to share with Colin, as he knew Colin was hoarding some of his desserts to share with Caddell. Dessert is a very important thing, one should always have desserts on hand to share. And to not share. Caddell was pretty sure it was a rule.

 

He had just finished stuffing every pocket not already full of Important Tools and weapons with the cookies when Granmauntie Peg caught him.

 

“ **Little monster, what are you doing?”**

 

Caddell doesn't lie often, and when he does, he isn't very good at it. Colin is the story teller.

 

“ **I'm taking Colin some cookies. They are strange, but yummy. He needs to try them. I want to try the strange cakey thing he is eating. He's saving me some.”**

 

Granmauntie looked like Buttface had when Colin had hit tim with the stick. Auntie 'Ronnie startled and stared hard at Caddell, **“Little Blue, do you know where Green is?”**

 

Silly question, Auntie, of COURSE he knows where Colin is! Why wouldn't he?  


Confused, Caddell asked, **“Why wouldn't I? He's with the Roma. They're nice, and he got the box thingie back to the man who dropped it.”**

 

Even Katka and Tatni's heads went sideways. Grigor stopped talking on the phone and turned to face him. After a moment and a shared glance with Tatni, he turned to the aunties, **“Are they twins?”**

 

“ **Identical twins,”** Ronnie answered, **“Why?”**

 

“ **Twins know things, sometimes. Grigor, get the truck. Vika, get the coats. Katenka, spare blankets. I'll pack food and desserts to share, Blue Twin put the cookies back, we'll be taking some with us, but in a proper container. Margarethe, could you pack the coffee, please?”** Tatni was like a general, Caddell thought, and you'd have to be Rumlow kinds of Stupid to disobey this General's orders. **“No, Sarron, you sit tight till we're ready to go, you look like a faint breeze would knock you over. When did you sleep last, dear?”**

 

Everyone moved to follow directions, Auntie Ronnie's head thunked onto the tabletop. Concerned, Caddell knew just what to do. He slid one of the red cookies across the table until it bumped lightly on her nose. She blinked, sat up and nibbled at it. Satisfied, Caddell nodded and went about his instructions.  
  
Dessert fixes everything. It's a rule.

 

***

 

It was quite possibly the strangest thing anyone in Irkutsk had ever seen. The Bratva and the Roma having one HUGE, winter-night, bonfire party. Two little ginger haired boys presided over the dessert table from the shoulders of their chosen mounts, Mishka and Warren, as all but three others celebrated life and health and happiness and good sense and little boys, calls of “BAKSHEESH!” ringing into the cold night.

 

Peggy, Grigor, and Durriken sat to one side, in, but not of, the celebrations, drinking the wine and vodka and coffee like the others, if slower and with a more somber mien, talking quietly.

 

Before long, the twins were dead to the party around them, curled in a bundle of bear, wolf, and fox furs, holding on to each other, near the centermost and largest fire pit. Sharon was coaxed into her own bundle near them with promises that many others would keep watch over the boys for her, and the conference of the three leaders broke to go find their various lieutenants. Peggy spoke quietly with Katenka and Warren about plans for the morrow, Grigor with his sons, right hand, and Tatiana, Durriken with the Phuri and Phuri dae.  
  
When every one settled for the night, the Roma RVs had been pulled into a tight series of circles around the center, Bratva and Roma alike stood guard.

 

Morning came cold and clear, and with it arrived Tatiana with her knitting circle and book club and half a dozen previously non-existing RVs, all painted a deep blue with fire red accents and freshly renovated. Grigori arrived with the rest of the Bratva, including men called in from all the nearest cities. Warren, Kaven of the Roma, and Mishka of the Bratva claimed Twin-Duty, while Sharon and Katenka backed Peggy. There were problems on the horizon that effected them all. Today, they'd knock them down. Katenka's Lieu-taught hacking got them the location of the slave traders, just across the border into Mongolia, Peggy's team was to evac the slaves, the Bratva were on trader-elimination, and the Roma kept the exit clear. Simple enough. And in truth, it was...

 

***

 

The camp was quiet, most of the people having left for their jobs, regular or the day's battle. The remaining adults seemed to think this was a good thing. Colin and Caddell, however, were very, very bored.

 

As any senior agent, particularly Coulson, Hill, and Sitwell, can tell you, any of the Harrows or their adopted family getting bored is a Very Bad Thing ™. Naturally, the twins decided on an adventure while they could.

 

Later, many would wonder how, exactly, they did it. Neither the Borzoi wolf hound Caddell rode nor Colin's Caucasian Ovcharka mount had been known to be friendly towards either strangers or children, much less willingly carry strange, Hobbit-sized younglings on their backs wherever the boys directed, but it seemed the dogs had adopted the boys as THEIRS as much as the adult humans had.

 

The trio of Twin Keepers swore and bolted after the boys, trying in vain to keep up with the near 20 mph “easy lope” the great dogs set even as the other Roma shrugged and returned to their daily activities. The dogs had taken on wolves and bear and won, it was rather unlikely there could be any danger they could not protect the boys from, and the keepers would think to get into a car to follow them soon enough.

 

***

 

Sharon was miserable. It was below freezing, she was wet, she was cold, and she stank so bad that she had to ride all the way back to Irkutsk in the bed of the truck. She wasn't sure she WANTED to know why Aunt Peg had 30 grams of Rubidium in a sugar-crystal encasement in the heel of her shoe, nor how she got it; rubidium was rare, expensive, and regulated. She HAD wanted to know why her aunt had decided to flush the damned thing into the pipes and septic tank in the restroom of the slave-traders' show room. All Peggy would say was “The Lieu gave me the idea. Frag grenade made from potassium and a canteen of water and nails during the war.” And, really, that explained much more than it should.

 

The net result was that the entire water system blew, half from the pressure created by the reaction, and Sharon got covered in sewage, because the more acidic than most places' water dissolved the sugar faster and reacted more with the alkali than expected and she was still fighting three thugs too near the bathrooms. At least she hit the ground fast enough. The thugs didn't. She didn't think there was a worse way to die than “knocked out by flying toilet seat, drowned in sewage.” Though, “Froze to death, covered in sewage” might be close.

 

She spent the ride back cussing out Fury's voicemail. It was something to do, and might even keep her warm enough to avoid that ignominious death. Asshole never even answered. 37 hours and she'd had more trouble than any four missions put together. Fucker OWED her, whether he liked it or not. To say that she was decidedly Not Happy with the day at 10 am would be understating things a bit. At 10:15, it was much, MUCH worse.

 

They drove into Irkutsk to find the city in absolute chaos. Katenka's house had been blown up, the market place was in full riot mode, three city blocks were splattered with hideous chartreuse aeronautics paint from street to rooftops, and a wolf hound ran up to the truck dragging a loudly complaining KGB agent by the ankle with all the pride of a cat carrying a half-dead rat to its owner. She wasn't getting her hot shower any time soon, and she had the sinking feeling that the boys were involved, somehow.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Rai - Sir, very formal, high respect.  
> Kako - Uncle, but can be used for any older-male.  
> Purodad - grandfather, which is how Warren sees him.  
> Chikni - son.  
> Phuro - a title Elder or councilman. (plural is Phuri)  
> Phuri dae - wise woman, the Elder of the vitsa representing the women and children.
> 
>  
> 
> Durriken is very... unusual from what I can find research wise in balancing Tradition and modernizations, however, I suspect that being born in late 1926, being one of the few who got to go to an actual Roma school pre-Stalin, and then living through Stalin's forced assimilation programs, Nazi occupation and the genocides involved, the fall of the USSR, computers, space programs, civil rights revolutionS, plural, and so on, would do that. Unlike some, he remembers all the good, and all the bad, and did not get bitter, but kinder. 
> 
> Bergamo:  
> Bergamo, Italy. Google maps turns up three possible locations for "Azzano, Italy," where Captain America became a Thing. All are in the north nearish the border and fairly close together. Bergamo, Italy a) has an International Airport ( Orio al Serio, if you were wondering) and b) is almost exactly in the middle of the three. This is the Key phrase identifying Ekaterina to Peggy. The answering code response is that the Alps are as miserable as Katenka's Papa claimed...Katenka is one of Bucky & Darcy's Girls.
> 
> Rubidium and potassium:  
> Rubidium is an alkali metal a bit farther down the column from Sodium, right after Potassium, in fact. One: Alkali metals a) react immediately and violently with water and are very exothermic b) Alkali anything reacts with acids (which sewage usually contains) producing heat, gas, and water. The two facts together, in a pressurized environment is explossive. Two: 30 grams is slightly more than 1/16th of a pound, about the same as 1/4th of a stick of butter in weight, in terms of chemistry, however, this is a LOT. 1/6th of this in a non-pressurized container of water was still very impressive, and THAT was considered a lot.


	12. Adventures with Carter, Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon's not the only one having a bad day, Peggy's day is AWESOME.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus Christ. Sorry it's been so long, guys, I've spent most of the last 5 months or so either sick or recovering from something, including several ER trips and a week in patient with an emergency oral surgery. I'm all better, it seems, haven't been in the hospital in a whole month, so I'm finally back to writing.
> 
> This is the last chapter of Adventures With Carter, after this, we're going to be skipping around a bit (really, there aren't many ways even the twins can _top_ this arc, and those ways are all already slated for specific time points.) We've got some Baby Ciara stories due, and another Adventures Arc that will be EPIC (I hope), and probably some side stories, since Kaven and Mishka are now begging to meet Strike Team Theta, and Durriken needs more time with similarly minded friends like Peggy and Grigor, and EVERYONE needs more of Tatni's cookies.....
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Last Time on Adventures With Carter:**
> 
>  
> 
> Sharon was miserable. It was below freezing, she was wet, she was cold, and she stank so bad that she had to ride all the way back to Irkutsk in the bed of the truck. She wasn't sure she WANTED to know why Aunt Peg had 30 grams of Rubidium in a sugar-crystal encasement in the heel of her shoe, nor how she got it; rubidium was rare, expensive, and regulated. She HAD wanted to know why her aunt had decided to flush the damned thing into the pipes and septic tank in the restroom of the slave-traders' show room. All Peggy would say was “The Lieu gave me the idea. Frag grenade made from potassium and a canteen of water and nails during the war.” And, really, that explained much more than it should.
> 
> The net result was that the entire water system blew, half from the pressure created by the reaction, and Sharon got covered in sewage, because the more acidic than most places' water dissolved the sugar faster and reacted more with the alkali than expected and she was still fighting three thugs too near the bathrooms. At least she hit the ground fast enough. The thugs didn't. She didn't think there was a worse way to die than “knocked out by flying toilet seat, drowned in sewage.” Though, “Froze to death, covered in sewage” might be close.
> 
> She spent the ride back cussing out Fury's voicemail. It was something to do, and might even keep her warm enough to avoid that ignominious death. Asshole never even answered. 37 hours and she'd had more trouble than any four missions put together. Fucker OWED her, whether he liked it or not. To say that she was decidedly Not Happy with the day at 10 am would be understating things a bit. At 10:15, it was much, MUCH worse. 
> 
> They drove into Irkutsk to find the city in absolute chaos. Katenka's house had been blown up, the market place was in full riot mode, three city blocks were splattered with hideous chartreuse aeronautics paint from street to rooftops, and a wolf hound ran up to the truck dragging a loudly complaining KGB agent by the ankle with all the pride of a cat carrying a half-dead rat to its owner. She wasn't getting her hot shower any time soon, and she had the sinking feeling that the boys were involved, somehow.

 

_February 14 th, 2011, 12:00 EST_

_Nick Fury stepped off his quinjet in a uniquely good mood. Aside from the meeting with the WSC, which was as unpleasant as always, the two days in London had been fantastic. London SHIELD offices operated with optimal efficiency, due mostly to Agent Hetty Lange, possibly the best acquisition SHIELD had ever managed, stealing her out from under Vance had just been icing on the devils-food cake. (If only he could figure out how Gibbs had snagged Zhiva David...) Wisdom had even had a new, even better, black leather trench coat made for him._

_He was, however, somewhat confused when another 'jet landed in front of him, as none had been scheduled for this platform for another half-hour. He was more confused when the ramp opened, and from it, descended two huge dogs, one chicken, the Harrow Boys, both filthy and exuberant, and a remarkably bedraggled Agent 13 carrying....was that a goat? Carter the younger deposited the kid goat in his arms (where it promptly began eating his shirt) with a baleful glare he didn't understand and turned to walk away._  
  
_“Agent Carter, Explain.”_

“ _You should have answered your phone. Or checked your messages. Any of the three dozen I left. Now you have a baby goat, a chicken, two dogs, and two toddlers. And. I. Am. Getting. A Shower. And an extensive paid leave with no calls on EITHER phone. And I strongly recommend you find a damned good present for me by the time I get back. Report is already in your email. Do not call me.”_

 

_***_

 

(16.6 hours earlier, 08:20 2/14/2011 IKRT/ 19:30 2/13/2011 DC)

Twenty minutes into their 'venture, the twins turned their mounts towards Tatni's house. All adventures require adequate cookie supplies. 's a rule. And Tatni's house had cookies, Tatni was a firm believer in the Rules too, and always had cookies and other desserts on hand.

They did not get their cookies.

As they turned the corner onto Tatni's street, they discovered Katka's house had been blown up by DummyAgents. They weren't SHIELD, and weren't local police, and they'd managed to trip Katka's security, which meant they had to be pretty dumb. Worst, they were blocking the road to Tatni's, just standing around looking confused that Katka'd had perfectly reasonable security in place when they tried to break in.

Of course, the DummyAgents were standing all across the street, and dogs running at greater than 20mph do not stop or turn on short notice very well. Neither do cars chasing after the dogs trying to catch up, for that matter. Thus, if the agents got bowled over by on rushing dogs, or had to jump and roll to avoid being hit by a car, well, it was their own fault, clearly, no sense getting tetchy about it.

They got tetchy about it.

 

Very, very tetchy.

 

***

 

The Twin Keepers had ...borrowed a car quickly, though not quite fast enough to catch up as soon as they'd have liked. It was only by Warren remembering their Rules of Dessert and that they knew Tatiana was bound to have some combined with Mishka's knowledge of the Doverskya house that allowed them to catch up to the boys as quickly as they did, about 2 minutes later than the optimal time window.

KGB was everywhere, for some reason, and clogged up the whole width of the street. Warren watched with horror as the dogs tried to slow only to skid into half a dozen agents before being beyond and rounding to a more dignified stop some three houses beyond. It was only as the boys came to a stop a breath after their car had turned onto Tatya's street that he realized they, too, were not going to be able to stop in time, and the damned government goons were Just Standing There.

This was not going to be good.

 

Half were already pulling their guns and turning to aim at the boys, apparently convinced this was an organized attack, and not the ridiculous accident from hell that it was. The freshly bombed remains of a house at least gave some logic to their hair-trigger conclusions, even if it was stupid. He couldn't decide if it was fortunate or unfortunate that the ones in the car's trajectory retained enough awareness to dodge just barely fast enough to not be run over. Mishka and Warren shared half a glance as the agents began firing at the car, some running to their own vehicles, and others running after the twins.

 

“ _Kaven, keep driving, we'll get the boys.”_

 

Mishka and Warren dove out of the car to snatch up the boys and secure them, while Kaven began ...offensive evasion driving. Honestly, Warren had seen the Widow's driving, and she might well be less terrifying behind the wheel than Kaven. (Durriken would chuckle later, _“Did no one tell you? Kaven is not allowed to drive for several good reasons.”_ ) Colin and Caddell fired their crossbows at the milling, angered agents (MiniTaser Bolts!) with disturbing accuracy, temporarily stunning the most threatening opponents, even as Warren passed Colin to Mishka and dove into the fray, giant dogs beside him.  
  
The cheering of the boys suddenly cut off at a loud crash down the street, where Kaven had swerved, and an agent had not, around a factory shipment of paint. Kaven's car, and what few remaining agent cars there were, screeched to a stop just as a chartreuse rain thoroughly coated them, making them entirely inoperable, wipers just could not compete with the deluge of thick, weather-resistant paint.

 

Warren lost track of things rather quickly, then, as he and the hounds kept a good dozen of the Russian agents too busy to take after the boys, and Kaven led more on a merry chase through the city towards the markets – and backup – and Mishka guarded the boys. It would take them several hours after it was all over to get all the events mostly sorted out into a vague timeline, and some questions would never be answered.

 

***

 

War' and Kaven did keep most of the Dummies busy, but still, a handful ignored the grown up chaos makers and headed for Mishka and the twins, who retreated to a nearby apartment building, but Mishka took a stand in the building's cramped, narrow stairwell and the boys were on their own, running for the roof. Unca Clin' told them to always get the high ground. Mama told them to run first, fight later. NatMonster said to cheat whenever possible.

Colin “boogie trapped” the stairs behind them while Caddell picked the lock on the roof access.

It didn't buy them enough time.

 

They were still debating how mad Mam was going to be when the door burst open to reveal three very angry, sopping wet, paint splattered, and bruised Russian agents, short circuiting their plans. A bit of signage board, the convenient slope of the roof, and the fresh snow meant that they were able to still follow the rules, but Mam was gonna be VERY mad at them. NatMonster, too. Not even Unca Clin' was allowed to impofize snowboards offa roofs. Unca Clin' does it anyways, but he allus gets in trouble for it. The look on the Dummy faces was worth it, though.

The raven whose nest they Did. Not. Hit. (barely) was much less entertaining.

Fleeing from the enraged bird, they ran down the fire escape on the far side of the building. War' was on the near side, but from what they'd seen soaring over the gap of the alley, he was rather....busy at the moment.

The rest of the Rom and Bratva were either at, or on their way to, the marketplace for the day's work, and Kaven had headed in that direction. The boys were tired, 'ventures are hard work, especially when Dummies show up, but Unca Phil said to go for backup, and back up was at the marketplace. Auntie Mel said that if you can't run, hide.  
  
The twins traded quotes from their favorite grown ups as they figured out what to do next. Dr. Gevard from SCI-Div said the shortest path between two points was a straight line, so to shorten their trip and hide while walking, because their grown ups told them these things, they cut through the yards and alleys of the houses around them, the vegetable gardens were all under snow, but there were bread rolls of some sort on a window ledge, and a nanny goat hadn't been milked in far too long, her kid being kept in a separate pen. Which was just. Not. Nice.

No one was in the house, and Caddell couldn't hear any pursuit yet, so Colin carried the tiny baby goat over to his ma, and Caddell worked to get the burrs and knots from their fur, while Colin got them both some milk. Warm goats milk is NOT like the milk at home, and they wrinkled their noses at it, but it was warm, and filling, and they were cold, hungry, and thirsty, even if it tasted funny.

In the next yard they stopped to pet a cantankerous elderly hen who was guarding the other hens and chicks in her coop.

In the fourth yard, they learned to fear geese. Geese are evil. Even Caddell couldn't charm them. They had all sorts of new bruises by the time they hit the alleyway, and Colin rubbed his very sore rump. Who knew geese bit?

They were almost rested and nearly to the market when Caddell's sharper ears caught the sounds of War' and Mishka fighting the Dummies.

 

***

 

[They haven't met Auntie Laura yet, but she'd be most disappointed at the trail of open gates and holes in fences left behind the boys.]

 

***

 

Not long after Kaven had arrived at the market to rouse the Rom, and what Bratva were near enough to hear, the two boys came running straight for him,  
 chased by geese,  
       chased by a chicken,  
              chased by a nanny goat and her kid,  
                     chased by the two dogs,  
                           chased by Mishka,  
                                  chased by Warren,  
                                         chased by a dozen armed agents, each bearing signs of bruises, cuts, or ….paint? Three were definitely covered in paint.

The market froze for a moment, until an agent aimed his weapon at a toddler in full view of the market's wives and mothers. Then... it erupted.

 

***

 

Nanny goat bit, kicked, and headbutt anyone who got near HER boys.

Shop keeps threw produce.  
  
Roma threw elbows and fists.  
  
Bratva threw Molotovs.  
  
Someone got video of the baby goat pissing on a KGB agent's boot.

Geese bit and hissed at everything that moved.

Dogs bounded in and out of the fray, merrily biting away at the ankles, heels, and thighs of agents who had no idea what they were getting into today when they got out of bed.

Kaven lifted Colin to his shoulders and helped him pack ice-shard-laden snow balls that they then both threw at agents who got a bit too close to actually hurting anyone else.  
  
Caddell was perched happily on Mishka's hip, where he merrily informed the other toughs that their molotovs would be so much _better_ if they just....

 

(It didn't escape either boy's notice that War', who'd taken up the spot in front of the boys to keep the agents back, wasn't actually throwing bottles like everyone else thought he was.)

 

The Agents never got close.  
  
Things were just finishing up, the vast majority of the KGB restrained by the populace, when The Aunties pulled up in their truck and the Borzoi trotted up with her captive, who had tried to escape.

Sharon was less than happy.

 

Peggy was delighted.

 

The boys actually took their nap, for once.

 

It took three hours to get the market set to rights, another four to get reports written, half an hour was spent begging into Romanoff's and Barton's voice mails, three hours of eating and partying that seemed to encompass the entire city (Tatiana cooked, and seemed like she'd never been happier than she was cooking for the whole city), and an hour just to get Peggy, her new assistant Katka, the boys and all their new acquisitions packed up onto the jet.  
  
Ciara was going to kill her.  
  
As long as Sharon got a shower first, she didn't much care.

 

***

 

**Washington DC, 12:05 pm**

 

  
“...Hill, please tell me Barton and Romanoff are here.”  
  
“Five minutes out, sir”  
  
“Good. Tell them to skip debrief. We have a voicemail-checking party to attend. Tell Nat to bring her vodka. I have a feeling we'll need it.”

 


	13. Boredom.

 

** Red Hat: Honestly, Occulus. Those boys are BORED. You know their adults, and what happens when THEY get bored. What do you expect? **

 

** Occulus: And what do you think I should do about that? **

 

** Red Hat: You're a smart man. Find something useful for them to do, and not in the chatterbox. **

 

** Red Hat has signed off. **

 

Fury sighed. 20 years retired and the woman still made him feel twelve. What could 3 year olds do that was useful?

 

***

 

The boys were bored, and Clint was well aware of how hazardous that could be, so when he responded to the Code Chartreuse to find them on the ground floor, armed to the teeth and glaring at a particularly nervous looking fellow, fresh from the Academy, from the look of him, he was hardly surprised. Handing the poor fellow off to the chortling security team, he thought quickly for a distraction for the boys.

 

“Buchalli, how about I take you home to get your kilts and woad?”

 

“Si, gracias!”

“Ja, bitte!”

 

And so, all three kilted up and painted with blue face paint in designs Clint pulled from one of Ciara's books, they pulled their SHEILD-provided SUV, which was kept with car seats in case of Harrows Babysitting emergency needs, back into the garage. Clint was still thinking furiously for the next diversion to keep them busy with when Colin announced that he was hungry, not an hour after lunch, while Clint parked the car, giving Clint an idea. “How about a game that ends in snacks?”

 

“Whats 'e game?” Caddell asked warily, clearly worried he was about to pull a Mary Poppins on them.

 

“Get to the cafeteria, but there are rules.”

 

“What rules?” Colin asked suspiciously.

 

Clint slowed down, the wrong rules would get him killed, by Ciara, Fury, or both.

 

“First, don't get caught until you get to the cafeteria. Second, you have to bring me, from three different offices, a desk name plate, a dragon or sword shaped paperweight, and an electric stapler. Use the ducts to navigate. Last, you have the length of one Curious George episode to get 3 items, 100 points, and get to the cafeteria. You can get ten points for each item taken, five points for each air vent you tie with a green string, and 25 points for each agent you get a woad handprint on, without getting caught. Any questions?”

 

Grinning almost evilly, the boys shook their heads no.

 

“Alright then,” Clint nodded, pulling out a tablet and opening the car doors, waiting for them to unbuckle. “Ready? Set? GO!”  
  
And they were off, re-arming faster even than Clint did mid-mission. Clint set the tablet to following their trackers and pulling security feeds as he took to the vents behind the boys, heading for shortcuts he hadn't taught them yet.

 


	14. Counting Coup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BairnSidhe played an active role in writing this one. Half of it is her fault. About 12% is my Mom's fault.

_ Monday, 1345: Please note, if you have received this memo, you have failed the new security training game. Your items will be returned to you shortly. Report to Romanoff Remedial tomorrow at 0800. _

  
  


45 minutes earlier:...

 

“Ready? Set? GO!”

 

***

 

Shikoba was heating up a cup of oats in her under-desk microwave when she spied a hand going for her stapler.  Her mind flashed back through the recent memos, and she picked up the stapler before it could vanish for reasons unknown.

 

“What exactly are you two doing in my office?” she asked the culprits, standing guiltily at her desk.

 

“Playin’ a game with Unca Clint,” said one tiny, blue-faced Mannegishi as the other did something with yarn.  “We had’ta get certain things, and get to the caf… but wifout getting caught.”

 

“Well,” she began, smiling, “you’re not caught if you get out without me raising an alarm.  What sorts of things, aside from my stapler, did you need to get?”

 

“A name plate, a dragon or sword shaped paperweight, an a ‘lectric stapler,” the first one recited.  

 

“An we get points for marking ducts, and getting han’prints on agents who aren’t looking.”

 

“Barton has you counting coup?” Shikoba asked.  She knew she liked the man, but this was just too adorable.

 

“Wha’s countin coo?” the one with the yarn asked.

 

“Showing off by playing tag,” Shikoba said, neatly side-stepping issues that Ciara might think were too violent for boys not yet in school.  She might not, but one did not take chances with Ciara’s children.  “My family did that alot.  We also know better than to offend the Mannegishi, and you two look like the little tricksters, so I’m not taking chances.  I’ll offer you a deal instead.  Take this snack to your Auntie Tasha and leave my office supplies alone, and I won’t tell Clint I saw you.  Deal?”

 

“Deal,” said the first.  His brother set a little doll of green yarn by her stapler, and they took the saran-wrapped bar she offered them.  Tasha was always willing to try Shikoba’s attempts at traditional cooking, and usually let her know if the recipe needed to be tweaked before giving it to her girlfriend Suri.

 

***

 

Nat returned to her desk to find a smallish rectangle wrapped in plastic sitting squarely in the middle, where her detskiy monstry left things for her to find.  Unwrapping the treat, she found a note tucked into the plastic. Reading it swiftly, she smiled and went to find Shikoba, munching happily on the snack.

 

_ Clint has them counting coup. Wanna come watch? - S _

 

***

 

In the privacy of his office, Coulson was quietly freaking out when his phone rang. He’d been out of his office exactly 45 seconds, the time it took to walk two doors down, refill his coffee, and come back. In that time, his collectible Captain America shield paperweight had gone missing. He’d payed...probably too much for it on ebay. And it was gone, with no one in sight. He may have answered the phone more tersely than he should have. 

 

“YES?”

 

“Thought you should know, Clint has the twins counting coup. They have a very specific list of things to take, vents to mark, and direction to put handprints on agents without getting caught.”

 

“That list wouldn’t happen to include a shield paperweight, would it?”

 

“No, but I can imagine that they decided a sword paperweight and a dragon paperweight would be incomplete without a shield. I trust I’ll see you in Remedial tomorrow morning?”

 

“Nat….”

 

“Phil.”

 

“....Yes.”

 

“Good.”

 

Phil sighed and hung up, staring at the phone for a minute, before beating his head repeatedly on his desk. Rubbing his face, he dumped half his coffee into his plant, George, and refilled it from the bottle of vodka Nat had given him last month. He downed half the mug before staring at the phone again.

 

Finally, Phil sighed and picked up the phone, dialing a number.

 

“Sir. Clint has found a way to entertain the boys. And Romanoff’s Remedial is probably going to be full again in the morning. ….. Yes, sir. …..No, sir. …. He has them counting coup against agents. ….Because Nat was watching on the security cameras and called me, sir. I’ll need my schedule cleared tomorrow, sir. ….They got my Cap paperweight.” 

 

The laughter on the other end of the line did NOT improve his mood any.

 

***

 

Harriet Pevensie-Welsch was reading while walking back to her office, a bad habit she never had managed to break, barring trips to other universes, there were only so many hours in a day, and all of them needed to be spent.

 

Besides, Grandma Su never approved of idleness.

Idleness lead to spending time in other universes getting yourself at least nearly dead, at least twice over.

 

She even had a sculpture Great Aunt Lu had made of Uncle Stacy as a dragon to remind her of that very fact. Idleness and greed got Eustace turned into a dragon, productivity and humility turned him back.

She looked up to open her office door…. Which was the only reason she saw it.

 

“It” being skinny legs, little boy underwear, a lot of plaid, and a small, blue hand taking Uncle Stacy. In that order, hanging down from her vent. She barely managed a squeak of protest before the boy was up and vanishing back into the vent. 

"Gotta tell David there's another infestation of coblynau,” she sighed in frustration, “and let Coulson know I may be going Home.”  She sat at her desk, and picked up the phone to call Coulson. 

 

***

 

Sharon hated paperwork, with a fiery passion. She still DID it, unlike Clint, but she’d spent  _ hours _ on this thrice damned report. More than ready for a break, she stretched and turned to get coffee from the pot on the other side of the room (she was determined to never be subject to the hazards of the coffee wars). A slight scraping sound was the only warning she had. Then there were two thumps and a flash of plaid, a giggle and the boys were out of the room and down the hall. Figuring the boys were playing, she shook her head and returned to her desk…. Where her Narsil replica paperweight and letter opener was no longer sitting on her desk.

 

“CLINT!”

 

Storming to Coulson’s office, Sharon stopped short.

 

There was a line of shame-faced and annoyed agents. Joining Agent  Pevensie-Welsch at the end of the line, she took a moment to really look at the other agents, and almost burst out laughing. Four of them had Twins-sized blue hand prints on them. Two complained of missing electric staplers, one of a missing name plate. An agent from Sci Div had a hand-full of Colin-green yarn, apparently gathered from all over the labs, with concerns that they could fly off the vent and into some experiment or other.

 

She turned to Pevensie, asking, “What’d the twins get from you?” as the younger Agent May, Magenta, she recalled, joined the line morosely behind Sharon, a blue handprint on her face. 

 

With a half hearted glare at Sharon’s amused look, Magenta answered the unasked question, “They were aiming for my shoulder while my back was turned. I turned into it when I heard a noise. Little devils scarpered while I couldn’t see.”

 

“They took my dragon paperweight,” Pevensie added sadly.

 

“And my Lord of the Rings sword letter opener.”

 

***

 

Clint was enjoying every bit of the game he’d made up for the boys, watching with snacks on his tablet each point scored, and the various reactions afterwards, in the vents near the cafeteria. A small offshoot, in fact, his preferred shortcut from the lower level gym to the cafeteria. He was, at the moment, quietly chortling his way through Sitwell discovering his very expensive, engraved and gold-plated glass name plate was missing. It was the second plate to go missing. Clint wasn’t sure if the boys were being over-achievers, or had lost count of their points, or both, but they were nearly at 400 at this point. MiniMay’s tagging had been the best, so far.  But Jasper losing his MIND was coming a decent second.

 

And then someone grabbed his ankle, hard. Clint swore as his head hit the roof of the duct, he almost didn’t hear the giggle behind him. Almost. He froze. Ciara was going to kill him for teaching the boys those words….waitaminnute…. The giggling got louder, and was followed by soft shuffling of the boys crawling away. He hit his head again, the duct was too narrow for him to turn around in. Groaning and muttering imprecations under his breath, Clint put the tablet away and headed to the cafeteria, time was almost up. Honestly, even if they were late, it should probably still count as a win….Dammit.

  
  


***

 

Fury was grinning. He was well aware of how much that terrified the agents as he passed, he really didn’t care. The problem Peggy had posed him was solved, and it was even useful - the building could always use fresh security reviews.

 

“Hill,” he called into her office as he passed, “Join me in the cafeteria.”

 

“Sir.”

 

“Coulson fill you in?”

 

“About the boys counting coup? Yes.” Hill seemed rather amused, probably, as Fury was, because so many supposedly top agents had been hit. If the twins could get one over on you, you’d been slacking and needed more training.

 

“I’m making it a sanctioned, random, vaguely weekly training game and security review.”

 

“Excellent, sir. Losing agents go to Romanoff’s Remedial?”

 

“Of course. Surprise Dodge Ball/wrench/hammer is just the thing they need.”

 

“She’ll be happy. She loves tormenting agents in Remedial.”

 

“It IS effective.”

 

“Order SciDiv to issue nerf guns to all personnel in house. I’d really rather no one ACTUALLY shoot the twins.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

She turned to her tablet to issue the order as they got off the elevator and turned towards the caf, where Barton was pleading with the kitchen staff to give him an icepack, a blue mark wrapped around his ankle.

 

Maria burst into laughter, Fury’s grin grew, but he took pity on Barton, “Give the man an ice pack, he probably does need it. I like the kilt Barton. I think you should keep it, it’ll mark you three as friendlies next time.”

 

“Next time, sir?”

 

“You did your job a little too well, Barton, the boys were entertained, and we know who has been letting their skills lapse. I’m sanctioning this as a training game and security review, to occur at  random times not less than a week apart, and not more than two weeks.”

 

“Perhaps the overseeing agent, or agents should be more directly involved, though,” Hill suggested through her giggles, as a vent opened and the boys climbed down into the room.

 

“Did we make it in time? We had ta go te long way.” said the one on the left.

 

“By my watch, you did,” Fury grinned at his nephews, “Go get dessert. ….By the way, how much were you supposed to get?”

 

“Hun’red points. But we weren’t sure if that was f’r one a us or bof of us.”

 

“How many points DID you get?”

 

“....We lost count.” said one. “Twice,” the other added.

 

“415,” Clint answered.

 

Fury laughed. Maria laughed. Clint sorta chuckled, but it made his head hurt. Colin and Caddell were too busy with cookies and brownies to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mannegishi are much like brownies and sprites, but of North American Native folklore. (Bairn adds: They're diminutive tricksters that tip boats, and are mostly talked of among the Cree and Ojibwa, although Shikoba is Choctaw/Apache. She tends to pick up bits of culture here and there where she can because she abhors culture-loss.)
> 
> Harriet Pevensie-Welsch IS THAT Su Pevensie's granddaughter. David is her Uncle that got lost under his bed at 12. (Bairn adds: David is the dimension hopper of the middle generation, Susan's kids, and he'd be the one sent to clean out an incursion from anywhere more magical.)
> 
> Coblynau are mythical gnome-like creatures that are said to haunt the mines and quarries of Wales and England. In reality, some areas of UK's bedrock are just below the barrier to a fairy dimension, and deep mines sometimes open doorways, resulting in David Pevensie cursing a lot and hitting his head on mine supports as he convinces them this place isn't worth their time.
> 
> Narsil is one of the two named swords in Lord of the Rings.
> 
> Magenta May, who we have here as Melinda May's niece, is Magenta from Sky High. Warren is totally laughing at her, and she hates him just a little bit, while wondering why she let her aunt talk her into SHIELD.
> 
> Am I missing anything that needs explaining?


	15. Gifts From Scientists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter set up for next chapter, where we cross into the Code Chartreuse bits in BairnSidhe's Out Of Body Experiences.

Fury walked into his office a bit late for the day and immediately stopped.

 

“Jackson, get me Hill on the line.”

 

Sitting on his desk was three bottles of SciDiv’s special edition scotchguard, and a bottle of blue label, single malt Scotch. SciDiv  _ does  _ like their puns. And fully half of them had just taken vacation time.

 

“Hill’s on line one, sir.”

 

Fury picked up his phone. “Hill. SciDiv either has given the twins a new toy, or is about to. I’ve been given 3 bottles of their version of Scotchguard, so probably another paint-based weapon. They also gave me scotch.”

 

“I understand, sir. Should I warn Coulson?”

 

“No, bastard’s still smirking about them getting my office phone in the last raid. Let him find out about it the hard way, what ever it is.”

 

He could hear the glee in Hill’s voice, “Yes,sir.”

 

***

 

As the Harrows Duty agents were all out on missions, fishing the twins out of trouble was supposed to be STRIKE’s job. 

 

Which, of course, completely explained why they were in Shikoba’s office, holding a guinea pig with a neon pink stripe running down its back.

 

No, it really didn’t.

 

Taking a deep breath and asking the Powers That Be for sanity, Shikoba asked, “Alright, explain again, why are you in my office?”

 

“Hiding.”

 

“From whom?”

 

“Rollins.”

 

“Becaaause?”

 

“Well….”

 

“We were playing wif the new paint marbles we were given…”

 

“And then we saw ‘genta here stuck in our net trap, so we went to untangle her.”

 

“Only while we were doin that, Rollins came in an’ stepped on the marbles.”   
  


“And the paint wen’ up his pantleg.”

 

“And he slipped.”

 

“And landed on more of the marbles.”

 

“And got paint in his eyes.”

 

“And triggered the net trap.”

 

“And started saying a lot of words we’re not allowed to say.”

 

“So we’re hiding.”

 

“Only Ronnie is in London.”

 

“An’ Melly is in China.”

 

“An’ Unca Phil is in…. Somethin with a Y.”

 

“And…”

 

Shikoba interrupted the back-and-forth, “Alright! I get it, all your usual hiding offices are empty of their agents. Why ME?”

 

“You is nice.”

 

“An NatMonster likes you, which means you is safe.”

 

“And you glared down DummyWard last week when he was saying bad things about agents who are ladies.”

 

“Which means you are scary, of the good kind.”

 

Shikoba’s head hit her desk.

 

***

 

Coulson sighed and stared hard at the scientist in front of him. “Just how many of these paint bomb marbles were given to the twins?”

 

“Well, I don’t know, sir, I wasn’t on that project and all the Engineering scientists who were are on vacation.”

 

“An estimate will do, Barkley.”

  
  
“Only 20 or thirty…”

 

Coulson breathed a sigh of relief….

 

“Thousand.”

 

Too soon.

 

Coulson turned and left, maybe he should take the rest of the day off….at a bar.


	16. Barney

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I slipped and spilled plot everywhere. SorryNotsorry.
> 
> (WARNING: Goes right from hilarity to angst in 3.5 seconds.)

Auntie Laura’s house was the Best House, with lots of nooks and crannies to explore, lots of yard to play in, lots of animals just about everywhere, including their rescued goat, hen, and the dogs that adopted them. This did not, however, mean the boys did not get bored, just that they were never very bored for very long. So when, on the third day there, they happened to get bored, They simply went looking for something to do.

 

What they found was a box lid, chopsticks, and Uncle Barney. Gathering up the lid and chopsticks, they dug out of their suitcases a glass marble and 15 paint bombs, one of which even happened to be black, then went to get Barney to play with them.

 

He had said he was good at playing pool, after all.

 

Barney said yes.

 

He had no idea what he was getting into.

 

***

 

It took a minute or two to set up, making pockets out of dixie cups, and setting the whole up on the kids’ craft table. Then making a racking triangle out of pipe cleaners and straws.

 

Then, full of amusement, he let Colin break. Which was the last time nothing went wrong.

 

He took a shot, got paint in his eyes, to which the boys yelled in unison “SCRATCH!”

 

Caddell took a shot. Barney got paint in his mouth, to which the boys announced, “Point!” and Caddell took another shot.

 

Barney dodged the paint and began to play their game in earnest. He used every skill he had from hustling.

 

He got paint in his hair.

 

He got paint in his shoes.

 

He got paint on his hands.

 

On his shirt.

 

On his pants.

 

On the wall.

 

On Laura’s Grandma’s vase.

 

And then Laura came home...

 

To two boys only slightly splattered and pointing at Barney, who pointed back at them, as Laura looked around her living room in something akin to horror. Silently, she turned around and walked right back out.

 

Thirty seconds felt like forever. Finally, Barney spoke. “We’re doomed.”

 

Laura walked back in another 30 seconds later, only to breathe deeply, and walk back out again.

 

A full minute later, the door opened slowly; Ciara didn’t even step into the room, nor let go of the door. She took one look at three hangdog faces, on three boys (one overgrown) standing meekly by the source of the mess, and two looks at the room, before she, too closed the door and walked away.

 

“Yup,” said Caddell.

 

“We’re doomed,” Colin finished.

 

Laura did not come back in. Ciara did not come back in.

 

Half an hour later, Clint and Coulson stood in the doorway. All three had clearly been trying to clean, but were still splattered with paint themselves, and so had left smudges as they cleaned. Colin had been crying, Caddell looked like he was going to be sick. Barney looked about ready to keel over.

 

“Okay, Little Monsters,” Coulson said with a comforting smile.  “Let’s get cleaned up while Unca Clint shows the Big Mess Monster how to use my special bottle of cleaner on the house.”

 

“Bro, you have the worst critical thinking skills, and the best luck,” Clint teased as Phil ushered the boys to the adjacent bathroom.  “Laura wanted this room painted soon anyway, and she sent lemonade with me to keep everyone from freaking out while she works out some stress on the speed bag in the barn.”

 

Collin and Caddell morosely followed Coulson to the bathroom, but at least Caddell didn’t look quite so near to puking.    
“We really are sorry, Unca Clint.”

“We know, but you still have to clean up messes you make. Some messes are harder to fix than others.”

 

“Umm,” Barney began, looking at Clint.  “Most strong cleaners are going to eat the boys' hands raw in very little time, and no gloves will fit them.”

 

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you kept playing after the paint was splattered the first time,” Clint said, “it would have saved you from wall-washing and floor-mopping duty.  Once the boys are clean, they can move the small stuff away from where you’re working.  Also, you really think the geniuses who make these things don’t also make lab safety gear for them?  I have a box of neoprene gloves in their size. Also, goggles and masks. SciDiv keeps hoping to bribe them to the darkside.”

 

Barney snorted as he began to scrub at the wall, “Those two? In a lab?” He thought a moment, “Maybe once in awhile, but not all day, much less every day.”

 

***

 

Coulson wiped carefully at the dried-on paint that splattered Caddell’s face, horrifyingly in red. “You’re in trouble, but only until the mess gets cleaned up, not for forever.”

 

“But it’s a biiiig mess! What if we can’t clean it up?” Colin sniffled.

 

“You will, and you’ll have help.”  Coulson sighed.  “Ask Auntie Tasha if I believe in messes too big to be cleaned up.  She’ll tell you I don’t.  No matter how much red you’ve gotten on things.”

 

Caddell asked softly, “Can we go tell Auntie Laura we’re sorry before we go back to cleaning, please?”

 

“We’ll see,” Coulson answered softly, pausing for a moment to think of how to explain. “Remember, two weeks ago, how angry you were when your mom took away the lockpicks SciDiv gave you?”

 

Both boys nodded slowly.

 

“And it took you a long time to calm down enough to talk?”   
  
They nodded faster this time, beginning to see what he was getting at.

 

“Did you stop loving your mom?”

 

“No,” Caddell started. “We always love Mam,” Colin finished.

 

“Did loving mom stop you from being mad?”

 

“No,” Colin said.

“We were still upset.”

 

“Auntie Laura is upset that her things got splattered with paint. She may still need time to calm herself down, but that doesn’t mean she’s stopped caring for you.”

 

“Oh.”   
  
“Can we see NatMonster, and ask her to tell Auntie Laura we wanted to say sorry?”

 

Phil smiled. “I think that’s a very good idea,” he said before returning to cleaning off the paint. Their hair would have to wait for a bath, but their faces and hands could get clean now, and if he took them to Nat in the kitchen, he could get oil worked into their hair so the paint would come out easily at bathtime.

 

***

 

Ciara and Nat were in the kitchen. Nat was making treats for Clint and Coulson. Ciara was idly making random things into bombs while chatting with Nat. At least it wasn’t the only remote that worked with the TV, this time. (She’d done that to her own on accident. Twice. She wasn’t allowed to watch wheel of fortune anymore.)   
  
When Coulson knocked on the doorframe, they turned to see him with two very pale looking little boys. 

 

“They asked to apologize.”

 

Colin and Caddell moved in for hugs, Colin to his NatMonster, Caddell to Mama.   
  
“We ARE sorry, Mam,” Caddell insisted quietly. 

 

“We didn’t mean to make a mess of Auntie Laura’s house,” Colin added.

 

“I understand that,” Ciara answered, “And Auntie Laura does too, but you need to think about what the consequences will be before you do something, it may hurt someone you don’t intend.”

 

“NatMonster?” Caddell asked from  Ciara’s shoulder, “Unca Phil said to ask you if he believes in messes too big to be cleaned up.”

 

Nat looked at the red paint in Caddell’s hair, and knew he’d had red on his face too, before Phil cleaned him up, knew exactly what had gone through Phil’s mind. She remembered only too well Phil cleaning red off of her own face after her first Black Widow day with SHIELD, as she worried about the red in her ledger. “No, buachailli, Phil doesn’t. No matter how big a mess you make, Unca Phil will always help clean it up, because it always can be, even if you can’t do it on your own.”

 

***

 

Caddell and Colin went back to cleaning with Coulson’s help while Barney went to get the worst of the paint off of himself. Clint disappeared into the workshop shed with a block of cedar.

 

By the time the living room was clean, Laura was back in the Kitchen from the barn, and the smells of cookies and brownies, and rum ball brownies drifted through the house, and shortly the kitchen table was crowded with 6 adults and 4 children happily devouring desserts. When everyone finished, Clint revealed what he’d been working on.

 

***

 

_ 3 hours later…. _

 

“Cheese, WHY is Laura Barton on the other line complaining about the Barton boys AND the Harrow twins?”

 

“Clint made a mini pool set, and Barney taught the twins to hustle.”

 

“...WHY?”

 

“Because they hustled Barney at paintball pool and made a mess of Laura’s livingroom while they were at it. So Clint made wooden mini pool so her living room wouldn’t get splattered with paint again, and Barney taught them how to really hustle with regular pool.”

 

“Why did you not stop Barney?”

 

“Ciara laughed and said, and I quote; ‘they will need money for college, might as well have skills early.’ Honestly, if we ARE going to recruit them as soon as they’re legal, especially if they go undercover, it’d be a useful skill to have.”

 

“I can always send you to the Sandbox.”

 

“I’m aware, sir.”

 

“I’m having Jackson set up a college fund for them, and diverting SciDiv’s penalty fines for unauthorized Twins’ Gifts into it. No more need to teach them the Con Arts.”


	17. The Briefing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers are introduced to the concept of Code Chartreuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost exactly 50/50 with BairnSidhe. Fun was had.

Natasha was fair bouncing off the walls when Phil walked into the Bunker’s kitchen, letting him know she and Clint had gotten the news, too.    
  
“Tasha,” he began, “do you have --”

 

“Video clips of my detskiy Monstry? Of course. I don’t go without them.”

 

“Of course,” Phil sighed, “Set it up. Jarvis, General Quarters, please.”

 

***

 

“So, what’s with the GQ, guys?” Darcy asked, raising a brow as Clint skipped merrily into the room..  “We don’t have incoming, do we?  I mean, not if Barton’s skipping, we don’t.”

 

“We do, of a sort, But not HYDRA,” Phil looked… almost uncomfortable, “Nat, Why don’t you take it?”

 

“Ciara’s boys, the ones we had look after Loki?  They’re coming to visit!”

 

“Visit a super secure facility we aren’t even supposed to tell most of SHIELD about?” Darcy asked, looking at the secret agents like they’d all grown extra appendages.  “I thought they were preschoolers?”

 

“Preschoolers who require… specialized supervision,” Phil said almost apologetically.

 

“Specialized supervision?” Tony was green at the gills, children in general were strange and incomprehensible creatures. Children who require anything extra were out of his wheelhouse entirely, he thought.

 

“It’s ….really better if we show you.”

 

“Why is Clint making popcorn?” Pepper interrupted.

 

Tasha shrugged, “This is his favorite movie. He always makes popcorn for it.”   
  
“Start at the beginning, Tasha!” Clint said as he found a comfortable seat.

 

“Of course, it’s the deti, what else would I do?” She clicked a button, “This is the day Clint met the Harrow twins….”

 

“Is that a trash bin?” Steve asked, tilting his head like a bird.

 

“Are those wrappers from that ridiculous place in Belgium?” Darcy asked.

 

“Barloew was soooo pissed,” Nat giggled.  “Now watch what happens when their mother was gone and we were taking care of them.”

 

“Did…” Tony blinked.  “Did he just pick that guy’s pockets?”

 

“That’s Rumlow, and yes,” Clint said.  “To be fair, he deserved it, as he was saying some shit right before then. Entirely deserved the broken clavicle.”

 

“They got Rollins, too,” Nat said with great pride.

 

“Oh. My. God.”  Darcy was staring, jaw down.  “Look down you idiots!  I know you’re evil, but come on!  They’re BABIES.  God, we’re locked in a battle of wits with unarmed men.”

 

“That’s how Fury reacted,” Phil said mildly.

 

“I don’t like the looks of that guy,” Bruce said softly.  “Hulk feels active when I look at him.”

 

“That’s former Agent Daniels,” Clint said around a mouthful of popcorn as the screen showed blurs of shrieking blue and green tackle the would-be saboteur to the ground.  “Don’t worry, NatNat took care of him later.”

 

“I’m glad you’re listening to Hulk, though,” Darcy said, giving Bruce a friendly smile.  “He’s got better threat assessment, probably because he’s not a scientist.  No offence Jane.”

 

“None taken.”

 

“Wait, can you pause it?” Tony asked, tracing lines of angle and tension in the air, hands moving in such a way that everyone knew why he’d invented the solid hologram system Jarvis used.  “That's a GOOD catapult.  They're what?  Two here?  Are those toys and jump ropes they're building it from?"

 

“Standard issue SHIELD exercise jump ropes, and mostly unmodified toys meant for ages 4 and under, Sir,” Jarvis said neatly.

 

"Wonder what they'd do with..."

 

Phil tapped his phone and Tony’s tablet dinged.  “We already gave this to SciDiv.  It’s a list of banned "toys" you may not give them.”

 

“Oh, come on Agent…”

 

“No explosives till they're ten, Tony.  Not even SciDiv’s proposed ‘child-friendly’ explosives.”

 

“I don’t make weapons anymore,” Tony snapped.  “I was thinking armor.”

 

“... You have to get permission from Ciara, and you should probably wait until they’re done growing anyway.”

 

“Shush, we’re getting to the good bits,” Natasha scolded.  “They build a pit trap on the 17th floor of the Triskellion.”

 

“... Naaat?” Darcy asked, in some combination of horror and joy.

 

“What?  You really think I wouldn’t pass on the best things my Mama could give me?  I’m an assassin, but I’m not that cruel. Besides, they are excellent students.”

 

“Your…”

 

“You did raise me, you and Papa.”

 

“.... Shut up and watch the movie.”  Darcy took a sip of soda and resolutely Did Not Cry.

 

Nat just grinned and hit play again. By the time they’d gotten to the Scotsman Raids, Thor was doubled over laughing and reminiscing about the stunts he pulled with Loki when they were just a bit older, Bucky and Steve weren’t much better. Darcy couldn’t help but draw parallels between the boys and her 28 girls, though the twins had a much merrier, and less hazardous, time of it. Jane and Bruce were chortling, FitzSimmons were identifying who had made which of the twins’ toys and what could have been done better, Skye looked wistful, and Pepper was horrified and trying to keep Tony from designing New And Better Toys for the boys.   
  
Phil cleared his throat, “There’s one more incident you should know about, but we have no footage of, as it did not take place on base.” He tapped his phone and the tablets dinged again, “Early February 2011, Fury was ...scolded by the Council for ‘not using his assets appropriately,’ by keeping at least two of a short list of people capable of handling the twins at HQ at all times. So, on February 11th, he sent us all out, except for himself and Agent 13, who’d only ever handled the boys for a couple hours at a time. Then he was called to London for an in-person meeting with the council. What I have just sent you is Carter’s report on the 48 hours that followed.” He waited in silence as the assembled company began to read. When their faces registered that they had hit the ….interesting parts, he added, “This report is why, unless there is no other choice, the Harrow twins are not EVER to be without approved supervision. As the agents still at HQ have been sent out again, and we have enough downtime here to take the boys until some of them return in roughly 29 hours, Fury is dropping them off at a meeting point near Reno on his way to Japan.”   
  
Darcy looked up, “When?”

 

“If we leave within 20 minutes, we’ll get there on time.”

It took no time at all to pick a team to go get the boys and a team to stay and vaguely childproof the bunker. Nat, Clint, Tony, Darcy, and Phil loaded into the SUV, Bucky hopped on Rita as their scout, and the were off. Half an hour’s drive through the desert, and they arrived  at the designated point, just as a quinjet landed in front of them.

 

While Coulson and the twins transferred the boys’ supplies and toys from the Quinjet to the Avengers’ SUV and installed their booster seats, the other adults converged on Fury.   
  
“When did Ciara head out?” Clint asked, “your email didn’t say.”

 

“Night before last, one of her civilian assets from an undercover job reached out, so it had to be her.”

 

“If Ciara left night before last,” Darcy said, doing some fast mental math, “who had them yesterday?”

 

“The Grandparents took them for the day yesterday,” Fury explained.  Nat looked a little pale.  Well, paler.

 

“Oh dear.”

 

“Grandparents?” Tony asked, blinking at the unflappable becoming flapped.

 

“Adoptive,” Nat clarified, as Clint stepped in.

 

“Frank Moses and Marvin Boggs retired CIA, Victoria No Last Name of MI6, Ivan Siminov, retired KGB, Peggy Carter, and Fury.  The rest of us are uncles and aunts.”

 

“Victoria is Peggy’s cousin, turns out.  Which explains Everything,” Nat said, clearly pronouncing the capital letter.  “What happened?  I didn’t hear of any riots or toppled governments…”

 

Fury sighed, “We took them out paintballing in the woods.”

 

Clint blinked, somewhat nonplussed, “...Soooo… What went wrong?”

 

“They can tell sports hunters from food hunters and really don’t like the former.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Darcy looked slightly shocked, “Forget about that, I’m still stuck on the list of grandparents. It’s…”

 

“Impressive. And Terrifying,” Bucky finished for her.    
  


“Yeah, that. Isn’t Boggs the guy that…”   
  


“Yes,” Nat answered, “And That too. Moses did the other one.”

 

Tony waved a hand as if the spy discussion and the inside references were smoke to be cleared.  “Wait.  I’m still curious... what’d they do to the sports hunters?”

 

Fury sighed gustily, exasperated, “What didn’t they do? Triggered traps, laid new ones for the hunters, shot them in the back with paintballs, shot them in the face with paint arrows, dropped whole cans of paint on them, circled their nests with paint bombs, Counting Coup… I gave up after the fourth one I had to cut down from over fifty feet up a tree. Victoria was laughing her ass off. Peggy at least kept her snickers quiet.” With that, Fury summoned all his dignity, turned on his heel and went back into the quinjet, just as Coulson unloaded the last of the Twin’s things. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chartreuse Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doomily long chapter is long. As in, a bare minimum of 2 chapters, probably more like 3, for what was supposed to be a quick chapter. Plot kept happening. And characters kept having Personal Growth moments. It's not our fault.

When they arrived back at the Bunker, it was to the full complement waiting to meet their visitors. And new toys, because Pepper’s attention lapsed for a moment, and Fitz made improved paint bombs, more easily washed off of walls and furniture, but sticking more firmly to skin and clothes without a special soap, with a bigger splatter radius. Coulson sighed.

“Don’t feel bad, Pepper, this happens all the time. We’re still trying to figure out how to regulate it. And we’ve had two and a half years of experience.”

Clint grinned, “Buachailli, why don’t you ask NatMonster to help you take your armory to the livingroom?”

“Nat is _not_ a monster,” Bruce interjected, as though offended by the mere thought.

Everything stopped as the boys stilled and glared dangerously.  
"YES. SHE. IS.” Colin argued hotly, “NatMonster is the BEST monster! She's bigger an' badder an' scarier than all the other monsters, COMBINED. And she's OURS. All the other monsters are scared of NatMonster."

Caddell marched up to Bruce and poked him in the belly, hard. “Don’t you be a meaniebutt and try and make her be,” he struggled for a word for what he meant, “Unmonsterfied!”

Colin was violently cuddling Tasha’s face and petting her hair “soothingly” and Caddell joined him, wrapping himself around her leg. “Don’t you believe him, NatMonster. He’s jus’ bein’ mean.”  
“Or stupid,” Colin finished, glaring at Bruce.

Bruce was….dumbfounded, and slightly guilty, though he couldn’t have said why. In the back of his mind, Hulk purred, “I can be a good monster. Scare all the bad monsters, smash bad monsters squish, flat. I can. I like that.”

“No one’s going to make Nat be anything she doesn’t want to be,” Pepper soothed, though her confusion about their anger was clear, “I’m sure Bruce didn’t understand you meant a good monster.”

The boys glared for a moment longer then sniffed haughtily, and proceeded like nothing had happened. “Come on, NatMonster, Let’s put our weapons away prop’ly.”

“Excellent idea. I want you to strip and check your weapons, too. We can’t play if there’s anything wrong with them.”

When they were gone, the entire group turned to Clint.

“What?” Darcy demanded. “What just happened?”

“Which part? Almost-four year olds maintaining their own armories and putting toys away, or Tasha being their NatMonster?”

“YES.”

“Have you ever seen Monsters Inc? Nat is Sully, Rumlow is Randall. I’m sure you can guess who Waternoose is.”

“Does that make you Mike Wazowski?” Tony asked slyly.

“Yes, yes it does.”

Darcy considered this, “And the armory?”

Clint shrugged, “They’re Scottish sons of a Scottish agent, spend all their time around agents, and are the mascots of three divisions of SHIELD: Security, Chatterbox, and SciDiv. Their mother firmly believes that toy weapons should be treated with the same respect as real ones, and Nat and I support that. Thus, toy weapons, both old fashioned and new.” He opened two of the crates to reveal one holding swords, knives and bows, and the other holding suped-up nerf guns, downgraded stun batons and gloves, “from Sciences, and com units with their own channel and one they can reach their adults on from Security. Both of which we walk them through maintaining properly. Communications gave them storage for everything and places to stash their armories.”

“ArmorieS? There’s more?” Pepper asked, looking after them and at the four crates remaining.

“Yeah, this is only about half of what they have. Two and a half years of near weekly gifts from SciDiv and Nat and me and Coulson and….They are well liked by the non squidly SHIELD. And they almost never act spoiled about it. Which actually gets them MORE. This is just the part they kept at SHIELD, they have at least as much at home.”

Darcy shook her head and walked away.

“Their mom is just as bad,” Clint justified.

Bucky pouted, “I want someone to give me cool new weapons every week.”

***

Jane liked the Harrow boys. They didn’t fuss about her random interludes and they never messed up her notes. She also approved of how they protected Natasha, especially from Bruce’s overabundant negativity about monsters. She wanted to like Bruce, she’d had a huge Science Squish on him since she read his papers in her doctoral studies year, but it was hard when he didn’t like Hulk, who was her friend. Fortunately, twin glares and insistence that monsters could be good had put a dent in his bad tape, and she was more than happy to help the process along when she saw him moping in their shared lab.

“You realize this is how we feel when we bring up Hulk, right?”

“What?” he asked, seeming confused.

“That confused, sort of guilty thing. It’s how we feel when you get snarly because we happen to like Hulk. Because he’s a sweet kid, and you seem really determined to dislike him. I want to be your friend, too, Bruce, but when I talk about Hulk, or ask if you can relay a message or bring him out to hang out with me, you look like…” she waved a hand at the door in reference to the conspicuously absent Twins. “It doesn’t feel good.”

“I’m sorry, Jane,” Bruce said.

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it,” Jane replied. “If you mean it, you can show it.”

“I’m not ready to bring Hulk out on purpose yet,” he whispered. “It feels like dying.”

“Oh. You could have said that the first time I asked. Well, why don’t you show it by apologizing to Nat? If you do it in front of the boys, they’ll probably forgive you if she does.”

“I… Can I? Could I actually just.... Say sorry? They looked….”

“Like you committed heresy? You kinda did, to them, but four year olds are notoriously forgiving.” Jane thought a moment. “Try telling Nat you’re trying to get better. Kids understand learning, and making mistakes when you learn. It’s why I like Hulk so much.”

“I’ll try,” Bruce gulped.

Bruce steeled himself, like a man on a mission. He was, sort of, and in unknown and potentially hostile territory. However, the problem would only persist unless one or more variables changed, and he could only change himself, everyone else was a control of varying stability. The common room had begun as barely better than a barracks, but Tony’s sense of comfort and Steve’s sense of hominess had altered it with sofas and tables and curtains over trompe l'oeil windows. Currently, said sofas and tables held a plastic and foam arsenal, and three people with stony looks and matching monster hoodies.

“Um, I came to say something to Nat,” Bruce started. The one in the green hoodie jumped up between Nat and Bruce, wielding a foam sword in a menacing way that was far too effective for a child.

“You gunna be nice?”

“I want to say I’m sorry. Jane is helping me figure some stuff out, and… I’m sorry my work with the Other Guy spilled on you, Natasha. It’s not appropriate to tell you how you should see yourself, or how you should see a label like that. But I really miss having you talking to me, it’s just weird having you mad. How do I fix that?”

“You’re still figuring out how to get the red out of your ledger,” Nat said, seeming to get it. “I’ll forgive you, this time, but I want to see you working on the Hulk thing. Maybe do some journalling, it helped me.”

“You know the HULK?” Colin asked, awed.

“Detki, Bruce _made_ the Hulk.”

“You’re Hulk’s ** _Da_**?”

“Um.” Bruce ran a hand through his hair and took a deep meditative breath. He really understood Tony’s complaints about fame now, this was extremely awkward. “Sort of? It wasn’t a great situation to try to raise a kid in. I messed up a lot. I’m trying to learn to be better. NatMonster and Darcy are helping.”

Natasha beamed as he used the nickname, even if it stuck in his throat a bit. Worth it, he decided. ”I’m sorry about the monster thing. I’ve only known bad monsters, I didn’t know there could be good ones, too.”

“What do you think Hulk IS?” Colin was baffled, “DUH.”

Caddell shushed Colin, “You is learning. People mess up when they is learning, it’s how learning happens. Now you know better. We forgives you too.”

“Good. That’s good,” Bruce said, a little overwhelmed. He was still adapting to people being nice to him, especially after knowing about Hulk. “Duh, small punies are good,” Hulk said in the back of his head. Bruce shook himself, trying to get back his own body. Hulk wasn’t pushing to get out, but the talking still was… odd. “Um. I’ll be in the lab working on some of the equipment we took away from the last raid, and dinner is pot pies. Beef or chicken. Bye.”

Thor was choking, trying not to laugh at the tiny, serious warriors protecting the shieldmaiden Natasha. He wasn’t succeeding very well. Finally, he gave up and let his face assume an apologetic look. “You are very valiant, young ones. I am reminded of my brother, he had a similar fierceness whenever someone told Lady Sigyn to return to sewing. Of course, Sigyn often defended herself, but I think she and Lady Natasha enjoy the gallantry at times, as well.”

“I do,” Natasha told him with one of her rare relaxed smiles. “Speaking of your brother, how was he doing, moya detskiy Monstry?”

“Loki is nice,” Caddell asserted firmly. “He teaches and he never ever lies to us.”

Colin grabbed Caddell’s hand, “Look!” and they shifted out of focus.

Thor choked on the last sip of the delightful drink of the sweet, foaming not-beer, that his Jane called “cream soda”.

“Fury will blow his lid,” Natasha remarked blandly. “Although Coup will be muuuch more fun now.”

“Coup?”

“Issa game,” said a mint-colored mist. “Like tag, but better. You gotta touch Agents without them seein’. They’re learning to play better, we only gots two hunnert and fifty seven points last time.”

“And all your Uncas feel much safer because of that,” Nat said with a grin.

“So we’ve got to learn to play better too,” the mist replied… in flawless, if childishly pronounced, Asgardian. Thor blinked.

“Has my brother taught you our language so quickly?” he asked, smoothing down the All-speak to reply in the same language. He’d never been as good at turning off the powers of translation as Loki, but then, his role was to be understood, and before their father had started twisting how people treated his youngest son, Loki’s role was planned to be as spymaster, where secrets were life.

The boys shifted back into focus, looking like they’d got caught stealing sweets by an irritated cook. “No...not on purpose….” They fidgeted nervously.

The twins looked at Nat, pleadingly.  
Thor looked at Nat, confusedly.  
Nat sighed.

“Ciara told me… under the effects of a very long mission and half my emergency stash of medical vodka, by the way,” Nat began, seeming reluctant. Her words had the air of someone relaying what may or may not be a secret, with no time to get permission first. “She said that many generations ago, several Alfar … were disinclined to acquiesce to Odin’s request that they leave Midgard, and chose to settle down here instead, joining a few of Scotland’s Clans. Most of them are long gone, but they had children with the humans they surrounded themselves with. Now, each of those clans has a gift, something the Alfar who sired them had. For the clan Ciara’s mother came from, that gift was learning any language within moments of experiencing it.”

“We could hear the language under the magic language when he spoke.” Caddell said softly.

“We’re sorry,” Colin added softly.

Thor shook off his surprise and laughed, “Wherefore, small ones? You are what you are, and there is no shame in using a gift you have so mightily. I am merely surprised that both gift and knowledge of whence it comes have continued so long after my father gave that order.”

The boys cheered significantly, and Thor spared a thought for his brother; it was such a small thing to say such words, yet how much of Loki’s pain could have been avoided had Odin taken the time to say them, when even these merry two could be so thwarted without them, and so gladdened by them?

His introspection did not last long, as Bucky and Skye came into the room, grinning.

“Papa?” Nat asked warily, he clearly had an idea, and ideas that make the men in Nat’s life grin like that aren’t often wise ones.

Colin and Caddell stared at Bucky owlishly. “You’re NatMonster’s DA?” Caddell asked in wonder.

“But you aren’t old like the Grandparents!” Colin blurted and slapped a hand over his mouth, blushing.

Bucky and Nat chuckled. “Я старше, чем выгляжу, маленькие монстры,” he answered playfully. “Have you checked and cleaned all your weapons yet?”

“All but the mines,” Colin answered, pointing at a series of marbles and small cubes that looked like, well, mines, made of clear plastic and loaded with paint. “Why?”

“Lunch is an hour away, and I thought we could gather up your Unca Clint and a few others and play a game I taught NatMonster when she was your size.”

“Hide and seek?” Nat asked excitedly, “Our version?”

“Da.”

“Who’s on which team?”

Bucky’s grin grew.

“Let’s do Foks i Medved,” he said. “Go get your archer and have him round up bears.”

Soon, the Fox Team was gathered in their den, Bucky, Darcy, and Steve’s room, planning how to evade the Bear Team and steal the prize from their den, located in the kitchen. The Bears were much better armed with paintballs, but they had no promises that the Foxes would come in through a door. Meanwhile, the Foxes were allowed to use airducts to get to the prize, but if they got tagged, they had to go hide, unfound and not moving, until Jarvis told them a minute and a half was up.

“Understand the rules?” Bucky asked the malen’kiye monstry.

“Yuh huh,” they agreed, and the game began. That was the other advantage of Foxes, they started the game when they felt like it, not when the Bears were ready.

Skye was the first bear to go down, taking a ball of paint in the throat before she could sound the alarm, but not before she finished arming a trap that sent Darcy into hiding.

Clint had obviously spent the prep-time rigging the vents in the kitchen with paint, because the sounds of “Not fair!” and “I will dismember you, Barton” rang through the entire base before Nat and Colin spent their hiding time in the laundry, switching his shirt for one less-likely to spread paint everywhere.

Bucky and Darcy regrouped and took out Coulson together, sending him to sit with Skye in the common room after a short but intense paint-filled firefight outside the utilities closet for the kitchen level. Darcy continued on to tag Clint, but took her own paintball to the tush at Steve’s hands.  
“Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal,” she said, with a mock scowl.  
“You know you love me,” he teased back.

Meanwhile, Bucky and Thor were locked in a stalemate in the dining area, because while Bucky was very good at what he did, he wasn’t quite as flexible as the usual vent-climbers anymore (he made a mental note to work on that) and Thor was accustomed to a sparring partner who refused to stand still and fight power versus power.

The game ended with Nat and Steve almost at each other’s throats, and Jarvis ringing a bell.

“Wait, what?”

“We gots the prize!”

“How?” Clint asked, rubbing his head.

“We handwalked like you showed us over the paint bits, then magicked the vent locks when we couldn’t pop ‘em from inside without bein’ loud.”

Darcy tilted her head, then looked at Thor.

“Well, we never said they couldn’t,” he allowed.

“When did you learn magic?” Phil asked, wiping the last of the paint from behind his ear.

“Loki taught us when we went to check on him!” Colin piped up.

“We like him,” Caddell agreed. “But we hafta be touching, or it won’t work, right nows anyway. We’re still learning.”

“Aw, yeah,” Clint cheered, “Counting Coup is going to be FUN next time.”

“Next time?” Nat asked, “Next time is MY turn.”

“Aww, karma,” Clint moaned.

“ребенок,”Nat taunted.

“Round 2?” Bucky smirked, “We still have half an hour or so.”

“Perhaps we should change up the teams this time,” Darcy suggested, “So no one is with their usual partner and everybody is equally limited.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Coulson agreed, thinking of the boys working magic again, Fury was going to have a field day.

Darcy and Phil split them up into Foxes: Nat, Caddell, Steve, Skye & Darcy, and Bears: Bucky, Colin, Clint, Coulson & Thor. When the foxes left to their den, Colin grinned and ran back to the armory, Hauling two chests back to the kitchen, where he loaded up on arms and ammunition, then pulled out the mines and marble bombs and explained them to Bucky and Thor, handing them out like candy. Bucky grinned wickedly, he liked where this was going….rather more than he should.

Meanwhile, the Foxes had plans of their own, mainly relying on speed, with the highest number of enhanced people who tended towards swiftness on their team. Only Coulson and Clint were reasonable threats to Natasha’s fastest times, and they were left in the dust by Steve. Darcy had an advantage on Thor, and Skye and Caddell had some plans for one-two hits against Bucky.

“Right, let’s do this thing,” she said with a vicious grin. “Break!”

The battles joined faster this time, swift, brutal strikes from all direction hit the kitchen in five minutes of each other. Mines detonated on the incoming Foxes to the loud protests of the victims. A short recess was called, a ruling allowing the mines unless disallowed before later games was passed to all players by Jarvis, and the game continued. Skye took out Bucky in a sacrifice play that got Caddell too, by accident. The two went to find a hiding spot, and Darcy used Bucky’s absence to distract Thor by probing the weak south wall of the kitchen he was guarding alone.

Colin got Steve when he was out of line of sight by bouncing a marble off of the walls to hit and shatter on Steve’s protected (he thought) back. Steve had to have Jarvis play the video of that back to him, twice. Once to see what got him, once to comprehend it. The second video run had Tony’s commentary added, including plans to see if MIT was willing to run an advanced math for children course over summers.

After Colin’s mathematically improbable shot on Steve was properly celebrated, with Jarvis playing a happy video game trill, the hidden teams were all able to return, which led to an interesting double-back as Colin, fresh from his win, tagged his brother exiting the recycle room. Skye managed to avoid the hit, and on Caddell’s request went to go inform Darcy that he’d be along in a little bit.

“It was weird, Boss-Lady,” Skye said as she re-armed beside Darcy behind a half-open door. “Like he was waiting for us. And my little buddy seemed really upset. Should we send Nat to check in on him?”

The question, it turned out, was moot, as the next moment resulted in a wave of shouts and muffled cursing from the kitchen. Caddell reappeared holding a plastic jar covered in brightly colored bug stickers.

“Colin was cheatin’.” he said grimly. “Tha’ means _**war**_.”

“What’s the jar?” Darcy asked warily as Skye asked, “How’d he cheat?”

“He was peeking when we were picking a hiding spot,” he said cryptically. “So I got the robot bugs from Doctor Stylins and let them out.”

Now that they were looking closely, some of the stickers were actually diagrams of realistic bug bodies made out of metal and plastic.

“Um. Nat?” Darcy called. “Doesn’t Clint have a… thing, about bugs?”

“Hence the screaming,” Nat’s voice said from a duct. “Nobody from our side is in the vents, da?”

“Except you, yeah, we’re out of the walls.”

“I think some little bear cub has found his way into the fox tunnels,” Nat said, just as cryptic as Caddell’s earlier statement about peeking. “Everyone scatter, and stay away from vents.”

Darcy turned to reroute her team to a strategic retreat, but Caddell was already down the hall, and too far away for her to stop the dangling rattlesnake from falling from the vent, onto the helpless boy’s head. He screamed. Her heart froze. He threw the snake in a wild thrashing motion. It sailed through the air. Darcy came back into control of her own body just long enough to scream “holy shitballs!” before being struck in the face.

“Jarvis, full pause!” someone shouted. Darcy spat a mouthful of rubberized skin from the robo snake onto the floor.

“Okay, new rule involving use of animatronics. And psy-ops. Namely, unless approved before-hand: Don’t.”

“Agreed,” Clint said, still shaking as Coulson picked bug bits out of his hair. “If nothing else, it breaks your toys, and you know what your Mam’s rule about that is.”

“You break it, you buy it,” both boys sighed in unison.

“Might I suggest a break for lunch?” Jarvis put in, “Biosensors indicate you are all showing signs of low blood sugar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buachailli: Gaelic, boys
> 
> Я старше, чем выгляжу, маленькие монстры (Ya starshe, chem vyglyazhu, malen'kiye monstry): Russian, "I'm older than I look, little monsters."  
> Foks i Medved: Russian, "Foxes and Bears".  
> ребенок (rebenok): Russian, "child".


	19. Lunch and Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longfic strikes again.  
> Oops.

As the Avengers gathered in the dining room for lunch and various conversations began, Thor turned to Nat for his own.   
  
“You said  _ most _ of them are gone now?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” Tasha responded, “There’s one the Scots and British call Robin Goodfellow, often called Puck that’s still around.”

 

“Puck! I know this character! He’s a trickster who made life interesting for the Alfar and Aesir for many years.”

 

“He’s been quieter in recent years,” Nat sighed and raised an eyebrow, as a tall, thin man with light auburn hair and merry, green eyes, and pointed ears faded into view behind her, and began gleefully rearranging her hair, “but that’s what he’s known for here, too.”   
  
Nat took a bite of her sandwich exactly as if nothing had happened and her hair wasn’t sticking up everywhere, as Robin made his way around the table. He paused behind Tony, peered at him a moment then dropped a pair of rose gold and rose quartz glasses on his nose and patted him fondly on the head. Tony’s tension eased, even though he knew he looked like the seventies had hit him upside the head and reverse-mugged him. Pepper relaxed just a smidge, too, simply because Tony did, which got her a very pretty RED, not purple, thank goodness, flower in her hair, which was suddenly more mussed than it had ever been. Behind Thor, Robin grinned, and when he moved on, Thor had half a dozen leaves very thoroughly tangled into his hair, just out of easy reach, with two poking up like bunny ears. 

 

As he reached for Darcy’s silky-looking hair, she put down her glass and raised one eyebrow at him. Goodfellow’s eyes went wide and he disappeared, leaving a chocolate coin for each of the twins. Turning back to the table, Darcy found fully half looked ridiculous, but all looked a bit merrier, she smirked and let it go. The twins stared at her.   
  
“You is a REALLY good Monster, too,” Colin said in awe.   
  
“NatMonster is still the BEST Monster, but you…. You is also BESTMonster,” Caddell nodded. 

“DarcyMonster,” Colin announced firmly, and turned back to his peanut butter and jelly.

 

Blinking a bit at the sudden feeling of being adopted by four year olds, Darcy turned to Thor. And giggled. He really did look ridiculous with leaves all through his hair and poking up like ears. Pulling out her phone, she took a picture to show Loki when they got back.

 

“Speaking of tricksters. Loki. Spill.”   
  
“Loki?” Colin’s head popped up, followed by Caddell’s.   
  
“What about Loki?”

 

“Tell us!”

 

“What do you wish to know?” Thor asked, seeming bewildered.

 

“Well, I see it that he and I have pretty firmly adopted each other, and I managed to miss all of his embarrassing kid stories!” Darcy said, appalled at this oversight of the Universe.  “Start simple, favorites and least favorites, and stories about those if you have them.”

 

“He likes herbal teas,” Thor said slowly.  “Specifically the kind Lady Eir made when we were feeling poorly.  So, he once pretended to be ill for several weeks in a row, only to be found out when Lady Eir brought in a specialist in mage-illness when she could not find the cause.  She was most angry with him, or said she was, but I think not, as she gave him several recipes after he was a bit older and more able to cook for himself.”

 

“Loki played hooky?” Darcy asked, on the edge of laughter.  “That little Ferris Bueler.  See, I faked sick exactly once, and Mom gave me Castor Oil.  It certainly did cure me of the willingness to lie to escape math tests.”

 

“Tell us about when he was little and fierce like us!” Colin prompted eagerly, Loki was already a favorite, and learning that he had been like them when little only increased his prominence.

 

Thor began weaving a tale of pranks, cutting remarks, and other sneaky forms of valor, to the rapt attention of the Twins.  However, after a certain number of starts and halts over Thor’s language, which the Twins could apparently understand just fine, Darcy’s attention wandered to the rest of her people.  She wasn’t quite doing headcounts every five minutes, but it was reassuring to look around the table at the rest of her family.

 

“Most of the scientists are rather….proprietary about their designs,” Clint was saying to Bucky, “but I suspect that Tony could retro-engineer the plans for them and make some for us. It’s training tools and toys, not weapons. If not, well, they take gossip as bribes. I’ll have a word with them, if you want. But first, see if the boys  will give one or two of each to Tony to copy. Lord knows he could use something fun to study and improve on. Probably make a suit that uses the things while he’s at it...if he doesn’t make such suits for the boys first.”

 

The genius is question appeared to have his own argument going on with Steve about the impressive bank-shot earlier.

 

“Tony,” Steve was arguing, “He’s four, he didn’t do the math, he just  _ did  _ it.”   
  
“Colin,”Tony turned, “When you threw the paintbomb at Steve, how’d you know how to do it?”   
  
“We play pool with them,” Colin answered. “They splatter after so many bounces dependin’ on how hard you hit em. Hit too hard an they splatter you, an it’s a scratch, hit not hard enough an they won’t splatter an ye hev t’ hope then next time you hit it won’t splatter you. Hit ‘em RIGHT an they bounce around and splatter on your oppanit an it counts as a pockit. So’s I know how many bounces they’ll make before they pop, dependin’ on how hard I throw it.” 

 

“How many bounces is that?”   
  
“If I throw it the same as I did at Steve? Can ye no’ count? Three an a half.”   
  
“Three and a half bounces?”   
  
Colin nodded, pointing, “Three walls and a Steve.” 

 

Steve blushed, Darcy about died laughing.

 

Tony ignored both and thought for a moment, “So simplified math crossed with instinctual physics. Still pretty good for anyone under 12.” 

 

Colin beamed, then frowned. “What’s fizziks?”

 

“If I may, sir?” Jarvis stepped in, “Physics is the rules and math that decide how everything in the universe interacts. Like how many bounces your paintbombs can make before splattering under how much force, figuring out the math is an important part of what Tony and other engineers and scientists like Jane do.”   
  
“Oh.” Colin thought a minute.   
  
Bucky added, “Physics and math is also a lot of what Clint and I do, because they determine how far and where our shots go.”

 

Colin’s brow furrowed and his lips pursed and twitched to the side. “How old d’ye hev t’ be t’ learn fizzicks?”

 

Tony laughed, “You’re already learning physics.”

 

“Tell me, young ones,” Thor said, as he finished his sandwich, “You have many weapons, but which are your favorite?”

 

Colin thought a moment, “Well, that depends. Which category do you mean?”

“Any category.”

 

Caddell swallowed his mouthful, “Well, I like bows more, and Colin likes crossbows more, but guns best, cuz he cannae pull a bow strong enough fer the longer ranges.”   
  
Colin nodded along with his brother, and then took up the thread, “And I like the claymore better, while Caddell prefers the zweihander.”

 

“And we both like axes, but dual-wielded long-knives are more fun.”

 

“Have you ever used a hammer?”

 

Caddell shook his head, “Mama says they’re hard to learn right cuz without the weight you aren’t learning, but they can’t be...be…” Caddell struggled for the word, so Colin made one up that fit. “Unleathalized.”

 

Thor laughed. “I will not be damaged by that which you can lift. Why don’t you finish your lunches, and then show me what you know with the weapons you have, and then I shall teach you hammers. But thy mother is right, you should not practice with those who can be damaged by what you use.”

 

***

 

In the gym, the boys opened their war chests and carefully laid out the pre-schooler sized weapons they wanted to use:

Bows and arrows   
A repeating crossbow

A claymore and zweihander

Two pair long knives

Sixteen throwing knives

Two short swords

Two broad swords

A war axe

A walking axe

Two throwing axes.

 

Tony looked at the collection for a moment, grinned suddenly, and quickly left the room.   
  
Bucky and Thor waited to be their practice-dummies,taking weapons from what the boys left in the chests, and the others filled in the sides to watch.

 

“What d’ye wan’ t’ see first?” Colin asked.

 

“Why don’t you start with short swords, work your way up to  the axes, then do ranged and long knives,” Clint suggested, and both boys nodded solemnly, picking their short swords up.   
  
Then, with a brief glance at each other and no other warning given, they attacked.   
  
It was quickly evident that while the boys were clearly trained by the same people, they did not have the same styles at all, even when using the same weapons. Colin dove in between Thor and Bucky and engaged both, while Caddell stayed outside, circling them and diving in to attack whenever they focused too much on Colin, only to retreat whenever they turned towards him, giving Colin an opening. It was a rather effective strategy.

  
***

 

Jane watched the playing, and watched as Thor became more thoughtful and deliberate -- and laughed less -- with a growing sense of unease, though she couldn’t have said what was wrong. Until, that is, Colin wielded his walking axe and Caddell had long knives in hand. She and Darcy had the same epiphany simultaneously. 

 

Colin fought like Thor, Caddell like Loki, but the teamwork was seamless, they always knew where the other was without looking and drove the men into each other’s weapons. Thor wasn’t laughing because THIS was what he and Loki should have been, likely were before Odin began being a royal twit. Jane was angry. She wasn’t unfamiliar with it, but it wasn’t common she felt it quite this strongly either. This was Darcy-levels of anger. Why? WHY couldn’t Odin at least have let them be? Why did he have to go and break them? He could have had a devoted team working together for his benefit and he shattered it. She wanted to cuddle Thor for a century. Maybe six. Maybe bite Odin. Twice.

 

“I’m going to kick Odin,” Darcy said calmly, in that dreamy voice that scared sensible people.  “Hard.  Maybe in the nuts.  Thoughts, Jane?”

 

“Find a way to do it where he can’t tell anyone you did it or he’ll look bad,” Jane said.  Hey, nobody ever said she wasn’t also scary.

 

***

 

After a while, the Twins were beginning to actually put a dent in their seemingly boundless energy, if only because Bucky and Thor tended to have higher thresholds for exhaustion themselves, and Steve had jumped in once when Bucky started to slip in his conditioning and needed a rest.  The Twins had seemed perplexed by an adult needing Nap Time, but accepting of Steve as a substitute target.

 

“Little Warriors,” Thor boomed, “perhaps we could let our bodies decide what to do with their learning, and turn to warfare of the mind.”

 

“No psy-ops techniques that have ever required therapy for any party afterwards,” Darcy said swiftly.  “We don’t teach the children brain-breaking outside of their own observations until they’ve passed a psych 101 class.”

 

“I meant merely subterfuge, Lightning Sister,” Thor said, chagrined.  “I would not count myself as skilled at mental combat as our brother, and even less skilled to teach any but the most basic techniques.  But he and I were not much older than these two fine warriors when we developed a useful ploy we call ‘get help’.  I would carry my brother, calling for help, and when someone came to attend, Loki would sneak behind them and steal treats, or keys to more amusing areas of the palace.”

 

“We do tha,” Colin said with a wave.  “Works better when Caddell cries tho’.  He’s good at it.  Watch.”

 

Caddell burst suddenly into big, hiccupping sobs, and although they’d been warned, most of the adults stood to find the source of the distress that resulted in the wails.  Caddell stopped before they could reach him, though he did accept the hankie Steve handed him to wipe his face with.

 

“That’s… devastating,” Darcy said, tilting her head.

 

“Is it just me or did that remind you of…” Bucky began.

 

“Sima,” Nat agreed.  “He’s got her songbird qualities.  But he knows he’s faking, which means he doesn’t get lost in the song like she did.  I made sure.”

 

Both of her parents nodded, soothing something in themselves.

 

“Okay, hold the presses, the party has arrived!” Tony called, walking in with a dolly of supplies.  “I did some fiddling with an extruder down on that floor with all the super paranoid survival supplies, and I got a reasonable foam armor set worked out using Jarvis’ scans of the kiddos clothing, and I think I’m on a breakthrough with hammers.  Try that,” he finished, passing Colin a mini-Mjolnir.

 

The hammer moved smoothly as Colin swung it like a sword, although Thor winced at the form.

“No, not with both hands, young one, it’s not a warhammer.  Here, lightly, like one of your longknives.”

 

“Tony, how did you… unleathalize,” Darcy stumbled on the twin’s word, “Mew mew?”

 

“I started with a one pound rubber mallet, figured it wouldn’t be too heavy but it would give the right swing to it, one pound does in blacksmithing.  Then I modeled Prince Point Break’s hammer in high-resilience foam and installed a few… safety features.  Give it a coat of vinyl and slap some decals on it for fun, and presto… kid-safe hammer.”

 

“Safety features?” Pepper asked.  “Is this like the so-called ‘flight stabilizers’ you fight with now?”

 

“No, no Pep, I wouldn’t,” Tony insisted, wide-eyed.  “Okay, I would, but not with kids.  Kids need safety, I know that at least.  It’s just hard to explain how they work without breaking Steve’s ban on Science in regular conversation.  Here, why don’t I show you?”

 

He grabbed a second hammer and a wrist band.  He hooked the wristband to himself, and gave the hammer to Clint.  “Swing away Katniss.”

 

“Um, are you sure?”

 

“Yeah,  it’s my tech.  I trust my tech.”

 

Clint hefted the hammer and gave Tony a medium-light tap.  Tony rolled his eyes and made the ‘come at me’ sign.

 

Clint raised an eyebrow, hefted the hammer, and swung.  The hammer drastically slowed about two inches from Tony’s skin, again lightly tapping him.

 

“There’s a slight ion charge and… actually only Bruce, Jane, and maybe Thor would get the technical details.  The hammers don’t like hitting people in the armor.  Trainers get bands instead because armor is finicky and I want better measurements if you aren’t going to grow out of it.” 

 

Colin was already hefting the other hammer, and swinging it as hard as he could at Tony, just to see how it felt when it stopped itself.

 

When it tapped Tony’s backside instead of hitting him, he grinned, “Cool! Caddell! Come try this!”

 

“I’m busy!” Caddell answered from where he was wiggling into armor unaided.

 

Colin looked at the hammer in his hand and up at Thor. “You said warhammers are different. How?”

“Think of your axes. This is like unto yon hatchets. A warhammer is much like your war axe, heavy and large.”

 

“Tony, can I have a warhammer? I like my war axe, though i like the pointed end of my walking axe better for multiple oppanits. I want a warhammer, too, please.”

 

“Sure thing, Highlander,” Tony said, and scampered off.  Pepper sighed and followed him.  Just in case.

 

Thor set the boys to practicing swings with no target, just adapting to the motions.  Steve disappeared and came back in a little with rubber torsos on wheels.  The dummies made good targets, and after one mishap left a mini-mjolnir shaped dent in one, they also were given wristbands, duct-taped to their backs.  The twins faced the slow progression most people have when learning, probably one of the few physical challenges where that had happened yet, although all the more interesting to them for the newness of challenge if their grins were anything to go by.

 

“Prince Thor,” Jarvis interrupted later, “Miss Lewis has requested your assistance in removing Doctor Foster from her lab for rest, as she plans to watch an astrological phenomena later tonight.”

 

“Tell her I shall be with her momentarily,” Thor said graciously.  “I fear our training for today must end, Little Warriors.  My Lady Jane needs to rest, and as all siedkonurs and siedmadrs, tends to forget she is yet mortal and susceptible to things like exhaustion.”

 

“So, what next?” Bruce asked.  They looked at him with interest.  Maybe he shouldn’t have asked.

 

***

 

Hulk liked Teeny Monsters.  The Teeny Monsters liked Hulk.  Puny Banner was scared of the Teeny Monsters, because he is a silly.  But dealing with things that scare Puny Banner is Hulk’s job, so when the Teeny Monsters asked to see him, Hulk came out.  Pushing out into Real was hard, and Puny Banner fought him, with worryworryworry.

 

“Hulk not hurt Teeny Monsters,” Hulk snorted at Puny Banner.  “Teeny Monsters are good monsters,” he told them, which got a big grin from Green Teeny Monster.  Big as his whole face, even though that wasn’t very big for Hulk, it was REALLY big for the Teeny Monsters.

 

“What Teeny Monsters want Hulk for?”

 

“We wanted to play,” Colin said, climbing up Hulk to his shoulder. “You don’ get to play, much, and NatMonster says we’re experts at helping people play when they don’t know how.”

 

Hulk liked playing, Tiny Jane played gunball with him, it was fun, except when meanies try to hurt Tiny Jane.  No meanies here, Hulk checked.

 

Caddell, meanwhile, was whispering in Barton’s ear, who smiled and left  briefly, coming back with the crate of paintbombs, old work shirts which hung on the boys like dresses, and a roll of butcher paper from the kitchen, rolling it out across the floor of the gym.

 

“Ye cannae color wif our crayons, they’re too small for you. So we paints instead!” Caddell explained.

 

“Paints?” Hulk asked.  New play meant new words, and Hulk needed new words explained.  He liked new words though.

 

“Ye make pretties on the paper with colored goopy stuff called paint. Crayons are another way to make pretties, they’re colored wax sticks, an ye draw wif them.”

 

“Here,” Caddell handed him a small colored ball, “Squish it.”

 

Hulk picked up the ball in two fingers, looked at it.  Like a berry, and berries have bright juice.  Hulk liked juice, but some is bad taste, make sick, Puny Banner worryworryworry.  So Hulk popped the berry to smell.  Not good smell, but pretty juice.  Not for eating, for pretty.  Hulk smiled.  “Paints.  Good paints.  Smash paints berry and draw?”

 

“Yes!” Colin encouraged, hopping down to get his paintshirt on and shoes off.

 

Hulk watched curiously as the Teeny Monsters smashed the paints berries and used their fingers to make the pretty juices make patterns on the paper, then, experimentally, wiped the paints from his paintberry on the paper like they were.

 

The paintberry juice left a nice clean stream of blue on the paper.  Hulk grinned and carefully selected a green-yellow paintberry.  He made new-growing shapes at the edge of his stream.  Then he took a purple-pink-dust color and smashed it over the paper, letting splatters make flowers.  “Smash pretty!”

 

Teeny Monsters grinned. 

 

Colin rolled dozens of the paintbombs out on the paper and began doing a jig on them, leaving a rainbow of splatters and footprints across his end of the paper. Caddell used his hands to make a SmashPaint butterfly. 

 

Hulk looked at his paint-covered hands and grinned, then made a  bright pretty on his face.  Like the nice Jungle People once did.  “Water is life,” he said, like they did, then giggled.  Giggles shook the floor. Teeny Monsters giggled too. Nat Monster smiled and left the three boys to their fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jarvis uses Formal Naming as a prefrence, but has a "Casual Setting" that he uses to talk to anyone who may have a hard time with Formal.
> 
>  
> 
> ** A walking axe has a long handle to be used as a staff or cane on hikes, and may also have a pointed end to dig in and grip into the ground. They also tend to have smaller heads like a fireman’s axe so as to be lighter when carrying it long distances. A war axe has a heavier head or a doubled head and the handle is only the length of a broad sword. Colin uses both. The walking axe he has figured out how to use the pointed end as a spear while using the axe. He likes tanking multiple opponents. With the waraxe, he turns into a whirling dervish of doom.
> 
>  
> 
> ***We had barely mentioned Puck when the trickster was elbowing his way into the story. He's as much a pain in the butt as Deadpool is, and will likely be popping into the story in other places, whether to play with the Twins, muss Tasha's hair, or have tea with Loki. Darcy will keep him in check, though. She's scary, and oozes Liege Lady, and Robin Goodfellow has been there and done that and does not want to be beholden to anyone, so he'll behave when she's around.
> 
> **** This [Caballero Dahlia](https://cdn.webvanta.com/000000/51/74/sm/uploads/plant/1450968870-7aeea8da7afbff14c/23011401_m.jpg) is the flower Robin Goodfellow gives Pepper. It's rather fitting.


	20. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of Bunker Shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We kinda rushed this one, sorry. between the chaos of RL and wanting to get to the next bit of planned Chartreuse Chaos, and how this silly arc that was supposed to be maybe 2 chapters has become 4 chapters all around 3-4 thousand words long..... We decided to keep it down to this last chapter. Enjoy.

Tony came into the gym to giggles and a veritable mural of modart and abstracts joining quite lovely pictures together, and two boys and a Hulk covered in paint. He breathed deep and remembered what Fitz said about the paint coming off easily when one of the twins (he had no idea which, they were wearing paint covered work shirts rather than their usual green and blue) came running up to him, bare feet covered in paint, leaving little footprints on the floor.

 

“TONY TONY TONY! COME LOOK!” hollered the tiny fae-creature, grabbing his hand and pulling him to a part of the long strip of butcher paper. “Hulk painted it!”

 

“It” was surprisingly good picture of the Avengers in a field of periwinkle flowers, with evergreen trees all around. Both Hulk and Bruce were accounted for. Elsewhere, he could see the same, big, green hand had painted a field of rose pink flowers next to a stream, and a lovely sunset over what looked like Mt. Everest.

 

“It’s beautiful, Hulk,” he said, words catching.  Beautiful wasn’t the right word, it wasn’t…  _ big  _ enough.  The painting was of something Tony had felt but couldn’t name.  Something warm and open and giving-not-taking and it didn’t quite fit any pre-built definition of family, but that’s what he suspected it was.  He noticed a shape he didn’t recognize, a blue-grey swipe in a vaguely person-shaped blob larger than the green figure.  “Who’s that?”

 

“Big Jarvis,” Hulk said, rumbling Tony’s chest with the words.  “Important to Family, had to be there.  Not big enough paper, said OK to be smaller.”

 

“Hulk appears to believe that as I can access most of the world through the internet, I am approximately planet-sized,” Jarvis informed him, a thin thread of humor under it.  “I have agreed to be represented as only slightly larger than him, in deference to perspective and the lack of planet-sized paper available.”

 

“Very generous of you, Jarvis,” Tony said with the same humor. “Now, I’ve made a pool table for us, why don’t we let this dry so Thor and Steve can put it up on a wall, while you two teach Hulk and me to play paint pool?”   
  
If the bouncing the three boys were doing was anything to go by, the answer was a resounding yes..

 

“Well then, Jarvis, tell the Tall Ones they have a job to do, would you?”

 

“Of course, Sir.”     
Tony could almost see the lip-twitching not-grin the First Jarvis had had when trying not to laugh at  _ his _ antics, the tone of voice the very same as the one the other Jarvis had had in such times….and not a detail he could remember having programmed into this Jarvis. He certainly hadn’t heard quite that tone in all of this Jarvis’ existence. He Did Not Cry.

 

He paused and looked down at the tiny bare feet covered in paint. “We should wash your feet and hands first, though, so we don’t track paint through the whole place. Jarvis, did we put some of that special soap Simmons mixed up in the gym bathroom?”

 

“No, Sir, Simmons is on her way down with it now.”

 

A few short minutes later, they were clean enough to walk around and headed up to the Common Room, where Tony had set up the table in a corner away from the couches and art.

 

The first few games, the twins resoundingly won, but Tony caught on quickly, and they never made Hulk feel bad for his Smashy Hands making it hard for him. They cheered his every point happily and commiserated on how hard it was not to break tiny things when he scratched, with the result that all four of them were having quite a bit of fun when the other adults came in. Just in time to overhear Tony talking math, physics, trig and traj at preschoolers. Who seemed to be understanding him. Possibly because Jarvis translated some of it. 

 

Darcy was worried. Clint beamed.

 

“Should I be concerned about what those two will do with physics? Because I very much am. They break physics plenty as it is, and we already have scientists who do that.”

 

“No,” Nat mused, “It will probably help them avoid some of the accidental messes. ‘Less boom is needed when you know where to put the boom to take a building down neatly,’ as Ciara says. She’ll probably approve.”

 

“Peggy says Ciara reminds her of Dernier,” Clint put in, thoughtfully.

 

Darcy’s worry only increased, “Fuck. One Dernier was enough, now we have  _ two _ ?”

 

“To be fair, she has SOME sense more than he does,” Coulson spoke up from behind them, “But then she’s also a mechanic, though we can’t get her to let SHIELD have the specs to her car. Which looks like a ‘68 Mustang, but out-tanks most actual tanks, yet drives the quarter mile in about 9 seconds. Which she’s done. Several times. And even Peggy says her driving is more terrifying than someone she called ‘Lizzie.’ So better than Dernier, but also worse.”

 

Bucky looked a little green. “I’m never riding in any car she drives.”

 

“Oh, come on, she’s not THAT bad…” Nat rolled her eyes at the queasy-looking men. “And the Beast is a lovely car, don’t be mean to him.”   
  
“Aren’t most cars dames?”

 

“Most,” Nat nodded. “Beast is special.” Her eyes took on a dreamy quality as she wandered off.

 

“Should I be worried my daughter’s in a romantic relationship with a muscle car?”   
  
“The bets haven’t been called in yet,” Clint said sagely. “I’m not jealous, so long as her paramours stick to being cars.”

 

***

 

Darcy pondered the Physics-breaking twins while dinner was being put on the table. If there had only been one, she’d have called them Pinkie Pie, but there was two. Two physics-breaking small things. She grinned as Clint wandered in, singing the Cat in the Hat theme song, sealing his fate.

 

“Hey, Cat in the Hat, go get Thing 1 and Thing 2 cleaned up for dinner.”    
  
Jane was staring at Clint like he had two heads, which was not, for Jane, at all the same look as it was for most people. Less “there’s something wrong with you” and more “there’s something wrong with you, I can’t wait to figure out what it is!”    
  
“Do you know  _ all  _ the words?” she asked.

Clint just grinned and sang the next line louder, “The Cat in the Hat knows a lot abooouuuuuuuuut That!”

 

Jane grinned back. Pepper’s bemusement only grew when Nat began humming along.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Dinner was... Interesting.

 

Mostly because Hulk didn’t want to “go home” yet, and he and the twins played with their pot pie more than ate. Sinking bits of crust into the filling to build ruin replicas. Caddell made Stonehenge. Colin insisted his was the Colosseum. 

Hulk’s was very clearly Angkor Wat. Finally, Clint started eating a cookie in front of them, pointedly staring at their plates, causing all three boys to deliberately smash their edifices, and take big, exaggerated bites of pie.  Hulk’s bite was the whole pie. Because he COULD. It was yummy pie. Puny Bruce cooks good. Hulk grinned at Teeny Monsters’ pouts. Being envied for something he could do was new and … good feeling. He grinned, his mouth still full of meat pie.

 

Dinner finished with the adults smothering snickers.

 

The twins gave Tasha pleading looks as they finished the required amounts of their plates. She sighed and nodded them off, smiling softly as they grabbed Hulk by the fingers and dragged him off.   
  
“Better get dessert to the common room, Clint. They want A Movie before bed.”   
  
“Wearing their hoodies, I assume?” Clint smirked.   
  
“Of course. They have to show their new friend, you know.”

 

“I’ll meet you there.”

 

***

 

The rest of the Avengers arrived at the common room, having been pressed into service by Clint carrying trays of cookies and brownies, glasses, and milk for everyone, to find the twins in their monster hoodies, hoods up, Natasha in her neon pink and lavender monster hoodie, and Hulk, with make-shift horns  made of aluminum foil taped to his head, all curled up together in an epic-sized blanket fort in front of the TV, the opening theme of Monsters Inc just beginning to play.

 

Steve grinned, he’d liked this one when Darcy showed it to him before the War.   
  
“Ho, the Camp! May I enter? I bring brownies.” 

 

Before long, the whole assembly was piled into the fort and chortling at the antics of Boo, Mike, and Sully. When the credits rolled, Hulk dropped off to sleep, fading back into Bruce, and the twins were yawning, rubbing their eyes and insisting that they Weren’t  _ Tired _ .

 

Bucky smiled. “If you get into your pajamas and get into bed, I’ll read you a story, alright?”

 

Both boys bolted for their bags to get their pajamas, while Nat tucked Bruce in with blankets and pillows from the Fort.

 

“They look so peaceful when they sleep,” Darcy said, half teasing as she watched her daughter with Bruce.

 

“He’s been through a lot,” Nat replied.  “You should have seen how he was in Kolkata.  He’s been living in that place where you’re too tired to die, and too scared to live, so you just exist instead.”

 

“And?” Darcy asked.  “That’s what we’re for.  Family makes you live an interesting life, whether you want to or not.”

 

Nat turned to say something when her eyes went wide, and her face went pale.  “Oh no.  NO!  Papa, you can’t read Mr Brown Can Moo!”

 

“What’s wrong with it?” Bucky asked, eyeing it suspiciously.  A kids book should be safe, but then again, he’d found some really disturbing things in modern media that seemed to go unnoticed.  A seemingly innocent book could be a landmine of emotions.

 

“Nothing, it’s just _ you  _ can’t.”  Natasha took the book and handed it to Phil.  “Only Unca Phil reads Mr. Brown.  He does the voices.”

 

She grabbed blindly for a book from within the boys’ bag and handed it to Bucky without looking. “Try that one.”

 

“That’s it,” Darcy announced, “From here on out, if it involves Thing One and Thing Two, Clint is Cat in the Hat, and you, Phillip Coulson, are now Mr. Brown.”

 

“Wait, are you recruiting and code-naming the _preschool_ twins into Hero?” Steve asked warily.  
  
“The preschool twins of _doom and chaos?_ Who ran _Thor and the Winter Soldier_ to exhaustion? Who regularly take down _full grown_ calamari? Yes. Yes, I am. Mostly so we can also protect them from the squidly ones.”

 

"Point taken," Steve said. "Maybe get them leadership lessons, too. Imagine the day care... defending  **itself** ."

 

"No," Bucky called from the other room. "I don't know what I'm vetoing, but no.”

 

Clint grinned, "Besides, they're already leading the daycare kids. Most of them just aren't at their level." 

 

Phil looked thoughtful. "I wonder if we should assign the daycare to levels like we do agents..."

 

“NO.” Bucky repeated, firmly.    
  
Both Clint and Phil pouted.

  
  


***

 

“In the great green room, there was a telephone, and a red balloon,” Bucky read quietly, snuggled between the two boys. “And a picture of the cow jumping over the moon.”   
As he read, he kept careful eye on the boys’ energy levels, they were sleepy and tired, but not yet ready to sleep, so as he approached the last pages and knew they wouldn’t be asleep by then, he thought quickly and made up some new rhymes.   
  


“Goodnight smiles full of charm,

Goodnight metal robot arm,

Goodnight capes, Goodnight cowls,

Goodnight my little night owls,

Goodnight pickets, goodnight tents,

Goodnight giant world events,

Goodnight range with lots of targets,

Goodnight Friendlies, Goodnight Jarvis,

Goodnight Stark, Goodnight Foster,

Goodnight all Little Monsters.”   
  


The twins giggled sleepily, and, like Boo, were quite suddenly fast asleep.

 

***   
  
Breakfast was a quiet affair, punctuated mostly by the coffee maker being run for the fourth, fifth, and sixth times. No one wanted to be less than over-charged for their last few hours with the boys, certain they’d need it.

 

***   
  
Colin peered over Bruce’s elbow, “Whatcha doing?”   
  
Bruce answered absentmindedly, eyes still in his microscope, “I’m calculating the speed of increase in mitosis when chloroplasts absorb cosmic radiation.”   
  
“Why?” Caddell inquired.

 

Bruce stopped himself from saying “I want to get there before Richards, because he’s a bully.”  That would just be immature, even if it was accurate.   
  
“To find out the ecological half-life of GRBs.”   
  
Colin this time: “What’s that?”   
  
“A dying star’s farts.”

 

“What’s it do?”   
  
“Well, in general it pushes energy out over the galaxy and helps make the aurora borealis look nice, but I want to know what it does when it gets down into the plants and animals, and how long it would stay there.  Is it like discarded styrofoam, there forever, or is it more like Chinese food, and we need more samples in an hour?  So far, I think it’s actually more like… Well, it makes the cells divide faster.”

 

The boys grinned, “COOL. Can we watch?”   
  
Bruce looked up at them and thought back on his idle answers then shrugged, “Sure, why not”.

  
  


***

 

The boys had been gone for an hour when Jarvis sounded the Assemble, and groans echoed from prone forms all over the common room.   
  
Steve rose stiffly and stretched, “Come on, guys, Justice never sleeps.”   
  
“Justice never babysat the Harrow twins,” Bucky retorted.   
  
Natasha sashayed through, polished as ever, “Don’t be a baby, Papa.”

 

***

 

Tony looked suspiciously at the ceiling. “Jarvis?”

  
“Yes, Sir?”   
  


“Are you…?  You are.  You’re  _ humming. _ ”   
  


“My apologies, Sir, I shall desist.”   
  


“No, don’t. Just, WHY are you humming?”   
  


“I was preoccupied, Sir.”   
  


“With what?”

 

“I believe Miss Lewis calls it ‘scrapbooking’.”   
  


“Scrapbooking what?”

 

The display to his left lit up with a slideshow of snapshots of Tony’s family and the Twins. Tony watched for a minute, realizing they had all smiled more in the 28 hours the boys had visited them than any of them had in months. And Jarvis had captured each and every poignant and gleeful moment. He smiled and resolutely did NOT tear up.    
  


“Carry on then.”

 

“Thank you, Sir.”


	21. Listen to Loki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a brief look into what's coming next.  
> You're welcome.

The clean up from the Convergeance over, Darcy insisted that they WOULD have a proper Thanksgiving Feast, with the  _ whole  _ family. Looking back, Loki could say with certainty, this was where things started going sideways. The “whole” family was … rather extensive. 

 

***

 

“Aunt Leora, stop trying to  _ matchmake  _ the Norse God of Mischief,” Loki heard Darcy saying, “He’s in a fragile place right now, okay?”

 

“But I know a wonderful girl!” that redoubtable woman replied, “He’d love her!”

 

“No,” Darcy insisted firmly, prompting him to step in.   
  
“Verily, my Shadow Sister knows I have given my heart already, though I dare not speak it yet. I have much yet to do to be worthy.”   
  
Norns help him, Leora  _ cooed.  _ “Oh, that’s so sweet! What’s her name?”

 

Loki sighed, but could not help the blush, “Sigyn the True.”

 

Ciara waltzed merrily by, and Loki relaxed microscopically in relief, certainly, his second-favorite human would save him. 

 

Smirking at his desperate, silent plea, she did, “Besides, any mortal girl you set him up with is unlikely to handle me hanging out on the couch building explosives at absurd hours well…. Or the way Honeybuns and I communicate. And that just  _ Won’t Do.  _ Only the best for Mr. Sexypants.”   
  
Ciara  _ was  _ his favorite non-Darcy Midgardian. She understood him and his chaos, and her increasingly irreverent and nonsensical terms of endearments were quite charming, all the more so as people made the most delightful faces at them.

 

Of course, it might also have been because Ciara wa like a delightfully terrifying combination of Frigga, Sif, and himself.

 

_ Huh,  _ he thought as he wandered out onto the Tower’s balcony,  _ It’s a wonder Mother hasn’t adopted her. _ As the thought struck him, it rang a chord within him. 

“Oh, sweet Norns, you didn’t. Of course you did. THOR!”

He turned to find his brother, mercifully, right behind him. 

 

“We have a new sister,” he said in Asgardian, “Don’t look at me like that, it’s not MY fault. Mother adopted this one.”

 

Thor sighed, “Who?”

 

“Ciara.”   
  
Thor brightened, he liked Ciara and her boys quite well. “Oh, that’s alright then.”   
  
Loki’s voice took on the tone he used when Thor was entirely missing the point, “Thor. This means that at some point, she and Sif will be  _ in the same room. _ ”

 

Thor stiffened at the thought. “...I shall secure plenty of extra mead and that Dwarvish ale you like so much but everyone else hates.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Do you think we could…”   
  
“NO.”

 

“Just a small bilgesnipe as a distraction?”   
  
“NORNS, no, Thor! Ciara’d adopt the damned thing and use it as a mount, and then Sif would HAVE to have one too, followed immediately by Darcy.”

 

The Bifrost dropping onto the roof filled Loki with dread.   
  
Momentarily, one of Odin’s guards jogged up to them, “My lords. Odin commands your presence at the Yule feast, and desires you bring both of your sisters and their families…” 

 

Loki stormed off, swearing as foully as both his sisters combined. Thor whimpered.


	22. Adventures on Asgard: crack cookies and Plot Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little shook a bottle of plot juice and then opened it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit to add end notes

"Husband, dearest, We need to talk about Yule." 

 

"What about it, my queen?" 

 

"I want my daughters and their families to be here." 

 

"Daughters? Thor hasn't married yet...." 

 

"Thor and Loki adopted the first one, and any that is sister to my boys is daughter to me. I adopted the second one first, so the boys can just deal with it."

 

"... I'll send our sons a message to bring them up for the Yule festivities."

 

"Thank you, dear. Besides, I want to see my grandbabies before they're ALL grown up."

 

"...Grandbabies?”   
  
***

 

“Okay, Thing One, Thing Two, you know your jobs,” Darcy said as she checked the straps of their backpacks.  Ciara was busy with the delicate dance of helping Little without actually seeming to help too much and offend the terminally capable child.

 

“We’re ta make Odin laugh,” Colin recited, “at least once, more if possible, and scare any BadMans we see there.”

 

“Exactly.  Tony and Cousin Harley made you Coup Counters to help you keep track, the batteries were made by Fitz, they’ll last the whole trip.  I want regular report writing too.”

 

“Lame,” Zoe said from the corner, where she finally stepped up and took the backpack from Ciara and handed it to Little.  “I have homework too.  It’s so dumb to do homework over the holidays.  At least I get to go do my studying in Asgard, though.  Harley wimped out.”

 

“Asgardian tech yells at him, and we’re not teasing your brother for disliking that,” Darcy chided.  “I’ll be keeping track of if you finish those books you have to talk about when you go back to school, as well, young lady, so don’t think you’re avoiding that.”

 

“Does breaking brains count towards counting coup?” Little asked from where she strapped her own backpack on, and wrapped herself around Bucky’s left hand, to his amusement.

 

Darcy thought a moment. “I’ll allow it this time,” she decided. The almost-seven year old girl’s smile would probably have been terrifying if that part of Darcy’s brain hadn’t died a tragic death years ago.  “But I want that in the reports too.  Which is NOT lame, because we want you getting better at Agent stuff, which also means reports.  Agents who don’t do reports get sent to timeout.”

 

“This is sadly true,” Clint said sagely, hefting Nat’s duffle bag onto the platform on the roof of the embassy.  She grunted beside him and gave him a glare.

 

“How did I let you talk me into trading luggage again?  You pack like you’re moving in.”

 

“I like my processed foods, I dislike anything resembling turkey legs.  I went undercover at a ren fair exactly once before deciding that was the only fair food I got over.  Also, I brought my make-up kits.  In case,” he said, looking at Ciara with a pointed eyebrow, “someone needs to have evidence of accidentally face-paving themselves diving for safety covered up.  And forgets to bring their own make-up.  The night before a fancy dinner.  To which they were invited and I was not.”

 

“Barton that happened  _ once _ ,” Ciara said, blushing.  “Stop milking it already!”

 

“Never, I’m from Iowa dairy country,” Clint replied with a raspberry.

 

“Don’t make me go California on your ass, Iowa. I’m the one who’ll be driving us home.”

 

“Hey, look, I’ve forgotten entirely what we were talking about.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Are you all ready?” Loki asked, stepping out onto the roof.  He had changed from the dark suits he favored in the Embassy to a more colorful set of Asgardian clothes in silks and hide.  He also had a sleek Italian leather attache case, making him an altogether bizarre sight.  Everyone had gathered on the platform, so he stepped up beside, did a quick headcount, and closed his eyes in something like prayer.  “Alright, we won’t get any younger just standing here, Heimdall, open the Bifrost.”

 

“Please,” added the four children.

 

“Please,” Loki said, but was cut off by rainbows and sound made solid.

 

***

 

The children looked up, up, up, UP at the rumbling laughter, when they landed. Heimdall grinned down at them. “Most pleased am I to finally meet the creators of much Chartreuse Chaos. I have oft watched with merriment, thy many adventures, little warriors.”

 

“You watch us?” Colin asked.

 

“He can’t actually help that,” Darcy started, but Caddell was already reaching for hugs from the Guard of the Bifrost.  And giving him messy cheek-kisses.  And asking if he got the cool eyes from using magic.  

 

“Okay, Buachaill, maybe don’t overwhelm the man in the first hour,” Clint advised.  “He’s me, but bigger, you know you don’t poke my eyes trying to figure out how they work.”

 

Heimdall merely chuckled, “Indeed, I should prefer my eyes not be prodded with fingers. As for how they work, I was born this way, though using magic the way I have has enhanced them further.  Like Mistress Zoe, I must train my gifts, if I wish to use them, and not the other way around,”

 

“COOL!” exclaimed the boys, in sync.    
  
Little sniffed. “Sure, you can see all sorts of things you don’t want to, but can you hear all the things you DO want to hear?”   
  
His deep, rumbling laughter was soothing to her ears, “Not the way you can, little one. I miss hearing much music doing my duty, and I do regret the lack.”   
  
Appeased, Little smiled up at him, “Perhaps I can come and play for you while we are here sometimes. And we could send you a music player for when we are not here.”

 

Darcy grinned, already mentally building a playlist for Heimdall, “I think that’s an excellent idea. Perhaps you could help me make a playlist for him when we get home.”

 

Little smiled and waved to Heimdall as they started leaving for the Palace.

 

Thor paused next to Heimdall as the others went ahead. “You have no trouble hearing what you See, my friend,” he said quietly.   
  
“I do not, but it is unwise to boast about sight to the blind, and I do not get to hear music much in the course of my duties,” Heimdall replied, winking slowly and turning back to his watch. 

 

***

 

They passed through the city slowly, as the children continued to bounce from booth to storefront to animal down the street. Each merchant seemed to light up, as the gleeful interest of the children endeared them to many, and brought the interest of fresh shoppers. The guards relaxed their watch as Little bounded from windchimes to a booth of instruments she had never heard the like of and Caddell found a booth of jewelry, bright with shining gems, and Colin stopped to pet a tied up horse.  Zoe pretended a level of mild interest, but her hands reached to pet the leaves of herbs for sale, mimicking Colin, and leaving the bundles brighter and greener.

 

A deep-noted stringed instrument caught  Little’s ear and she paused mid-step to locate it….as a cart’s brakes gave out on the hill ahead of them. Loki cried out as the little blind girl dove easily out of the runaway cart, rolling head-over-heels to Loki’s feet. Her hood fell as she stood and brushed herself off. Loki gasped as she looked up to swear at the cart, and the loss of the music she had heard. Scars ran from milky white eyes like liquid frozen by time across the nameless-child’s face. Carefully swallowing his keening, broken heart, he asked casually, “I have not been told, Little one, what happened to blind you?”   
  
The child shrugged carelessly, “Father poured something labeled H-C-L,” she pronounced the letters carefully, “on my eyes when I saw him kill Katerin for trying to give me a name for my fourth birthday.”   
  
The guards looked like they were going to be sick. Thor looked like he was planning a murder. Loki blamed neither for their reaction. He met Ciara’s eyes and saw the steely anger them. She nodded firmly, as Little put her hood back over her face and began searching again for the instrument she had heard, as if she hadn’t just shredded the comfortable existence of those around her.

 

When she caught again, the strains of the complex instrument, she followed it faster, a guard and Loki accompanying her, this time. She stood listening for a moment, then pulled out her violin, tuned it with swift, sure movements, and settled in next to the musician next to the luthier’s shop catching his tune and playing a high descant to it, drawing quite a crowd. Loki’s jaw nearly dropped, the guard’s eyes went wide. The lively but slower gigue the older musician played on the lower-toned instrument was good, but the new, entirely original reel the diminutive child played over the top of it added flesh to the form and truly set feet to dancing, while the gigue added depth and firm ground to her fast-paced bowing. When it finished, with a great flourishing of bows, the two musicians stood and bowed to each other, rather than the audience. Flushed from her playing, Little turned to Loki, about to ask him to buy for her one of the instrument the man played, to find him already holding one such out to her. 

 

“Only the best tools shall do for my pupils, little one.”

 

The guard smiled knowingly...until he was pressed into service carrying the large instrument back to the palace.

 

The remainder of the walk was uneventful. Mostly. Paying more specific attention now to Ciara’s children, Loki began noticing something. All three of them were working magic. Smoothly, subtly, and as if it was merely breathing. In concert with each other, each supporting the other. Everywhere, they spread little disorders and minor chaoses in such a way as to brighten the day, and in some cases, the life, of those they passed.  He smiled and said nothing. To use the gift of chaos for such kindnesses spoke well of the heart of his pupils. To do so so subtly, and working together with deft hands on the strings of magic,  _ disturbing  _ nothing though they worked chaos magic, spoke highly, indeed, of their skills. His apprentices were surely the best in all the realms, and he was quite proud of them. He couldn’t wait to introduce them to Mother.

 

***

 

Loki was pleased to take a breath as his brother finished carrying the last of the heavier things into the royal suite their Midgardian family had been given.  Darcy had promptly dragged Natasha and Zoe to see the wardrobes that had been left for them, for any day they wanted to attend Court, meanwhile Ciara was methodically and scientifically sniffing each and every one of the bath oils in the manner of one who hadn’t seen proper bathing facilities for a year.

 

Of course, the bath in the palace was significantly larger than any of the corresponding facilities on Midgard, Anthony’s desire for luxury excepted, and Ciara was not in the habit of bathing at the Tower.

 

“Perhaps I could take the children around, show them what areas are safe for playing, and you can freshen up before dinner?” he suggested.

 

“Marry me,” she sighed, and Loki laughed.

 

“Don’t believe all the stories of how our family is related,” he teased, and offered a hand to Caddell.  “Come, I will introduce you to the people who most need your unique skills.”

 

In the Great Hall, the children got to run off a bit of energy, since there wasn’t an assembly today and the space was ideal for running and jumping, if the weather was too cold to do so outside.  Loki buried a smile as two terminally arguing Lords were interrupted in whatever Court Drama had caught them this time by a tiny child swinging from the banners on the ceiling, and two more climbing the pillars. 

 

“What is that?!?” Lord Aryen gasped.  “That’s not in any way safe is it?”

 

“I don’t think so…” Lord Kiver said slowly.  

 

“My pupils are adept at this,” Loki said firmly, startling them.  “They often do this at home, it’s not really their fault Asgard has nothing that fulfills their needs as the facilities they use on Midgard.”

 

“I think someone should petition the King for better facilities to let little ones train in physical expertise,” Lord Kiver said, somehow upsetting three centuries of strong opposition to the young ages of the Guard.

 

“Agreed,” said the formerly xenophobic Lord Aryen, “perhaps we should seek input from the Midgardian Princess Darcy, she participates in training, doesn’t she?”

 

Loki grinned as they wandered off, working together for the first time in millennia. 

 

“Prince Loki,” said Underhealer Krydda, “Lady Sigyn wanted me to come see you about the work the Midgardian Healer McCoy did on yo---oh my Norns, what in the-”

 

Loki looked over to where his female student was jumpfalling to the floor...whole.  The hummed descant to slow her fall was barely audible, even to him.  “She does that,” he assured.

 

“There’s someone coming,” she said solemnly, pointing her sightless eyes unerringly at her adopted brothers.  “Not bad, but he needs confusing.”

 

Krydda paled.  “What caused…”

 

“Don’t ask,” Loki commanded sharply.  “If you ask, she will tell you.  You do not want her to tell you.  Not without a heavy dose of steadying draughts on hand, trust me on this at least, you’ll want them.”

 

Tyr entered, opened his mouth with a look like he was planning on scolding Loki, and was ambushed by twin balls of cheer and merry havok.

 

“What’s that type of sword called?” Colin asked, poking the weapon in question.  “Is it heavy?  How long did you have to train to use it?”

 

He was joined by his brother.  “What’s the metal?  Who did the spell work?  Did you mean to put a listen-in spell on your scabbard?”

 

The General let out a muffled whining sound of utter confusion and tried to hand Colin to Loki.  Colin, for the first time in Loki’s memory, refused to go and persisted in going through the General’s pockets.

 

“Ew, this spy-spell is reeeally off key,” Little said disdainfully, poking at a fallen token with her throwing knife.

 

“Sloppy,” Caddell tsked.

 

“Why does that child have a throwing knife?” Krydda managed.

 

“Because she’s better at them than most seeing adults,” Thor informed her, coming in on the least interesting question, as usual.  His answer did not seem to reassure her any, as the healer threw her hands up and walked away.

 

“A little help, my Prince,” Tyr ground out.  He still wasn’t happy Thor had changed after his adoption of Lady Darcy.  He wasn’t fond of change at all, actually.  “The pillars are not for climbing, the rafters are not for jumping, and I really want it to stop touching my sword.”

 

“Oh.  Yes.  Colin, don’t poke at unknown weapons,” Thor said casually.  “Caddell, if you’re going to climb the pillars, use the ones that have vines on them, they’re safer.  Little One, you know it scares people when you go rafter jumping.”

 

“I wasn’t rafter jumping.”   


“You weren’t?” Thor asked.   
  


“I was swing-jumping on the banners. Completely different thing.”

 

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Did you jumpfall from more than 15 feet?”

 

“Yes, but lots of people were watching, so I could see exactly what I was doing.”

 

“Verily,” Thor said, voice dry and amused.  “But you still scared Lady Krydda, she was quite upset when she left  And I believe General Tyr is not feeling much calmer about it.”

 

“Oh. I am sorry to have scared you, General Tyr.  I’ll tell Lady Krydda sorry later, if you’ll take me there, Loki.”

 

“Of course, Little one.”

 

“My Prince,” Tyr said, now that he was being mostly un-accosted.  “I wanted to go over plans for the trade renegotiations with Nidavellir while you are here.  Your Father has been speaking much of wanting you to take a more prominent role in ruling Asgard.”

 

“Of course,” Loki said, knowing he was not the Prince Tyr spoke to.  “I acquired distribution rights for some Midgardian schematics from a Prince of Midgard, and a gifted smith.  That should tip agreements our direction, you know the Dwarves love to pour over new plans.”

 

Tyr spluttered, but could not deny that, and so Loki and Thor regained the upper hand.  No puppet Princes for Asgard today, Loki thought triumphantly. 

 

In the midst of the discussion, three tiny trouble-makers slipped away… 

 

***

 

Magic thrummed. Powerful magic, indeed. Following the tug on the strings of power, Loki soon discovered its source. And was entirely unsure what to feel, nevermind do, about it.   
  
Little was playing her new instrument, working a spell that smelled of mischief and humility upon a man well known to be most unkind to his servants. Loki realized with a start that she worked magic  _ through  _ the music; as most seidkonurs did with hand motions of weaving and spinning, she did with rhythm and tone.    
  
Listening carefully to the music, he began to discern what her spell was. She gave the man a day in the life of his lowliest servant. Smiling at the fairness of her spell, he chose to let her finish it, which she did flawlessly.

 

“Little one.”   
  
She turned and flushed at being caught, but gave him a defiant look.   
  
He endeavored not to smile. He did not entirely succeed.   
  
“Come. I’d like to introduce you to my teacher: my mother, Frigga.”

 

***

 

“Mother.”   
  
“Loki, dear, I thought you were getting you sisters settled?”

 

“My sisters are settled, Mother, I’d like you to meet the girl my newest sister is taking care of. She has a quite remarkable, and unusual, talent.”   
  
“Oh? Is that so? And what do I call you, my dear?”   
  
The child shrugged, “Whatever you want. I don’t have a name, Father killed my sister for trying to give me one. Most people call me Little or Beloved. Sometimes Kitten.”

 

Frigga smiled gently, “Very well then, Love, when you desire a name, you have but to ask. Now then, what’s this talent my son says you have?” 

 

‘Love’ shook her head, “I don’t have the words for it in any language spoken here. Could I show you?” She turned to Loki, as if for permission.

 

“Go ahead.”   
  
Love carefully put her new instrument aside, and reminded herself to ask it’s name later. Pulling the smaller case from her back, she drew out her violin and checked its tuning, then paused in thought for a moment.  “Is there a garden we can go into?”   
  
“Of course, but you are not dressed for it, it is deep in snow.”

 

“That’s alright, I haven’t anything warmer to wear anyways.”   
  
Frigga and Loki frowned slightly at that. “We shall have to fix that. Will the door to the garden suffice, for now?”

 

Love nodded firmly, “Yes, that will do.”

 

Quickly enough, they were ensconced in a garden room, the fire roaring and blankets warming beside it. Unerringly, Love found the door and threw it open upon the snow. She stood at the ready with her violin for a moment, listening, and then, with a nod, began to play. For a moment or two, the servants thought nothing was happening, but Loki and Frigga could feel the pull within the music as the child pulled power to her, the music twisted about and flowed out in a glow of sunshine and growth, taking the power out into the garden, where snow began to melt, and the rose bushes leapt into full mid-summer bloom. She tied the power off with a neat trill of song to keep the flowers thinking it was spring, and the snow that fell anew off of them, and finished with a flourish.

 

“My son is certainly right about your talents, little Love,” Frigga offered, as she wrapped Little in the warmed blanket and closed the doors on the garden of roses blooming amidst snow. “Now, what is this about not having warmer clothes?”   
  
“Ciara doesn’t know I know…”    
  
“We won’t tell on you, Little one,” Loki cajoled, “Tell us what you would.”

 

“She doesn’t get payed as much as she should, because Fury can’t give her promotions she deserves or he’d be seen as playing favorites, which would undermine her authority in whatever positions he gave her. I checked her finances. If I let her buy more for me than she absolutely must, she or the boys would have to do without things they’ve been having. Already she spends too much on me. I don’t like taking  _ away _ from them when they give me so much…” Little looked close to tears and Loki scooped her up onto his lap.

 

“Finances are no such trouble here, Beloved. Here we can and will ensure that you have everything you need, and as much of what you want as possible.”   
  
“And to that end,” Frigga said, smiling at her son melting so at a child’s woes, “I have sent for some help. Sif can help us pick clothes that will not hinder your movements, and my own seamstresses can make whatever you desire.”   
  
“Red, black, and grey only, please.”   
  
“Why those colors?”   
  
“I haven’t earned the other colors yet. For the Jachkt, green is for healers and doctors, which I haven’t learned yet, nor can I manage groups of people, laws, and finances enough to earn purple, and blue is for people like Tony and Bruce and Miss Skye, and I don’t have that yet either.”   
  
“What are red, black, and grey for?” Loki asked curiously.   
  
“Black is combat, I like combat. Grey is tactics, I do that all the time. Red is for priests, who are also the strongest magic-workers. I know the Books by heart and can make up new spells as I need to, so I have my Red.”   
  
Frigga listened thoughtfully, “What of yellows, oranges, browns, gold and silver?”

 

“Those don’t have any meaning,” Little shook her head, then paused in thought, “I could have those as accent colors, I suppose, but I want the main colors to be the ones I’ve earned, please...if that’s alright.”   
  
“They’re  _ your _ clothes, darling girl, they shall be whatever you want them to be.”

 

Just then, the seamstress team and Sif arrived, and Little spent the next two hours being made much of while they made clothes just for her.   
  
“I wonder if you’ve noticed, my son,” Frigga said quietly to Loki while the child cooed with delight over the feel of a crimson silk velvet.   
  
“Noticed what, mother?”   
  
“That you’ve adopted the child as your own. I am pleased, I shall get to gloat for quite some time about what my grandchildren can do every week with the ladies. Fauna’s gone and gotten uppity that she has vaguely pretty grandchildren. MINE are beautiful AND talented.”

 

Loki stared at his mother before collecting himself. “Did I? Very well then, do you know where Eir is? She’s been rubbing at her eyes and I’d like Eir to see what she can do about the discomfort.”   
  
“Perhaps you should tell Ciara you’re taking guardianship of her foster-daughter first? I will send Eir to you.”   
  
“Hmph. Probably, yes. Would you mind watching her while I see to that detail?”   
  
“I’d be offended if you didn’t ask me to. Shoo. Off with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Luthier is an instrument maker, the term comes from lute, a predecessor to the guitar.  
> A descant is a melody played over the top of a second melody, usually higher in tone.  
> A gigue is a baroque era music style and dance, it is lively....as far as middle-and-upperclass dances go, but relatively sedate compared to the commonfolk's dances like the jig and  
> reel is a song and dance style common in celtic music wherein both the dance and the music make fast circles around a central theme.  
> The instrument Little hears is a fictional one based off of the [Lirone](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9FTYbJuODoxJsCZsr5Qr43plXYYvmlLY) but with a longer neck and rounded back, resulting in a lower and fuller sound. Like the lirone, cello, and violin, it is bowed, not plucked, but runs from bass to alto, rather than baritone to alto.  
> (Will update with a picture I have sketched of The Instrument.)  
> 


	23. Adventures of Darcy, Sif, Nat, and Ciara (Or: How to drive all the men in your life crazy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children aren't the only ones who have shenanigans.

Frigga met them in the anteroom to Odin’s Lesser Audience Chamber with Little in tow, dressed in finery befitting the daughter of Loki, but entirely unique to herself, mingling Sif’s warrior style with the drape and luxury of mage robes. Little wore a hooded crimson velvet, black fur lined crop-coat with long dagged sleeves and gold embroidery over a gold silk shirt, black leather bodice with gold clasps and embroidery, and a short slitted crimson velvet skirt over black leggings and boots. When she heard the group of Midgardians approaching, she grinned and twirled to show off her new finery.   
  
Frigga smiled, her daughters’ families had turned themselves out quite nicely. The twins had insisted on wearing their nicest kilts, leines, and ionars; Zoe wore a new-leaf green gown Pepper had bought for her, with a forest green and silver Asgardian crop coat not unlike the one Little wore; the adults of the group were split evenly, the men wearing their battle gear, and Frigga had to admit admiringly that her eldest granddaughter’s husband managed to make the luxurious purple of his armor look intimidating; the women wore copies of Sif’s armor in varying colors, Ciara in deepest blues, with a green and blue plaid arisaidh matching the boys’ kilts over her shoulder, and her clan clasp prominently visible, Darcy in black, with midnight blue accents, and Natasha in black with red. Frigga nodded appreciatively, yes, her expanded family was quite well turned out for their presentation to the Court, and the feast in their honor. The elves of her brother’s court that had come for the occasion would surely recognize the stylings of the twins’ outfits, and would understand the message implied therein. Clan Urquhart had not forgotten, and Odin and Frigga knew...and officially didn’t care. Officially, at least.

 

“Mother?” Thor prompted her.   
  
“Hush, my son, I’m enjoying looking at my daughters and their families.” Frigga went and embraced her daughters, “Oh, my girls, such lovely things you are, and smart and talented, brave and kind, of course. But a vision of beauty to my old eyes. I didn’t think I’d get the joy of having daughters until my sons got around to marrying already, and here you are.”

 

“Our family is never expected, Babulya,” Natasha said, a light blush touching her cheeks.  The endearment was said shyly, as if half expecting reprimand.

 

Frigga laughed brightly, “Indeed, you are not, but all the better for it, Vnuchka.”

 

Nat’s face broke suddenly from shy reserve to open joy, the work of only a few twitches but clear in the knowing smiles her mother and husband gave her.

 

Frigga knelt down to the twins’ height. “Hello, buachailli, my Little Love has told me much about you today, and Heimdal told me when I asked after you of your adventures. Thank you for keeping him amused. He spends long hours staring at all the horrors people can render to each other, he needs joy once in awhile, and you have given us both much already.”   
  
Bucky rolled his eyes. “Now you’re giving them  _ ideas _ ,” he cautioned.

 

Frigga twinkled back at him, “Good.  Now, my husband is, if the past teaches us anything, currently getting far too worked up talking to Surtur, if we don’t interrupt them, they’ll be at it all night, going without dinner to play with each other.” 

 

“That’s not good,” Darcy muttered, “he’s cranky enough without blood sugar issues.”

 

“Indeed, though we shan’t say so where he’ll hear us,” Frigga sparkled.

Frigga opened the door and they could hear Odin talking to a deep, growly voice. They seemed to be simultaneously bitter enemies and friendly rivals.  

 

Ciara made up her mind to stop the temper both voices exuded, met Darcy’s eyes and grinned to see she was on the same page.   
  
“PAPA! WE’RE HERE!!” she crowed and flung herself at Odin, Darcy on the other side doing the same.   
  
“I did not hear of any nuptials,” The growly voice said from the glowing ring in the air.   
  
“That’s because there weren’t any,” Odin glowered.

 

“There were adoptions,” Frigga clarified calmly. “Three of them.”

 

“ _ Three _ adoptions?” Odin asked.   
  
“Yes, your younger son has adopted Ciara’s foster-daughter as his own. Be nice. I LIKE my grandbabies. I’m going to gloat over them to the ladies tomorrow. Surtur, these are our new daughters, the brunette is Darcy, adopted sister of Thor and Loki, and this firebrand is my Ciara. You’ll like her, she builds explosives when bored. Her sons are Loki’s students.” 

 

“They sound like their talents would be wasted on Asgard’s gluttonous ways,” growled the horned beast framed by the glowing ring.

 

“You’ve obviously never seen them get into the caf dessert stash,” Ciara drawled back.  “Gluttony is sort of where little boys live.”

 

The fire giant on the other side of the communication portal smirked, “You should come here, we have plenty of potential explosives, and  _ we  _ value our mages. Not to mention that a woman who so speedily attains command of our tongue without the aid of Allspeech would be equally valued here.”

 

Odin narrowed his remaining eye at the image in the ring.  “No.  Absolutely not, I forbid it.  Some things are simply too low, even for you Surtur.”

 

“Slow your roll there, Daddy-o,” Darcy said warningly.  “Telling Ciara ‘no’ is a good way to get the thing you said no to sitting in your living room eating your pizza.”

“Oh, Jasper loves Pookie,” Ciara dismissed.  “Pitties are sweet dogs, really, and the mad science didn’t change that, it just gave her enhanced strength.  And the ability to eat almost anything.  And a strong dislike of Nazis, so call that home defense training.”

 

“Regardless,” Odin said slowly, “I was not forbidding her to talk to Surtur, I was forbidding Surtur to steal her.  My daughter,” he said slowly, putting one arm around Ciara.  “Mine.  Get your own if you can in such a deserted waste as Muspelheim.”

 

Ciara snorted and Surtur looked… amused.  Sort of.  It was hard to tell what with the boney shape of his skull and the firelight.  “I owe you a boon, for making this sight possible,” he told her.  “Odin has not be so discomposed for centuries.  I find it enjoyable.”

 

“Give it five minutes and you’ll see it again.”   
  
“Maybe less.”

 

“And why is that?”   
  
“The children have a talent.”

 

Thor rumbled with laughter, “They manage to be as Loki and I were at their ages, doubled.”

 

Surtur grimaced. “Perhaps I can do without them. Perhaps.”

 

“Wait until we teach them level two fire control, maybe,” Darcy suggested.  “Your home looks lovely, but hazardous.”

 

“You know you-”   
  
“No. That one’s mine, too,” Odin interrupted and began pointing to each of the people around him, “Mine. Mine. Mineminemine. Mine. Very much mine. Mine. Hers, so mine.  _ Hers _ , so mine…”   
  
“Yes dear, we know,” Frigga soothed.   
  
“You’ve got dibs and Surtur cannot have,” Darcy said in the voice people usually reserve for the mentally unstable.  “We get it.”

 

“Mama, I’m hungry,” Colin said plaintively.  “When’s dessert?”

 

“After dinner.”   
  
“When’s dinner?” Caddell asked, a touch calmer… barely.

 

“Before dessert.”

 

“ _ Mama, _ ” both boys whined.

 

Surtur roared with laughter.

 

***

 

The feast was enormous and sumptuous, even by Asgard standards. Some of the nobles were affronted that such a feast was being given for Midgardians. They were more affronted when Frigga introduced them as her daughters and their families, and Loki’s new daughter.  The elves, at least, were delighted.

 

Volstagg roared with laughter to see the three tiniest creatures devour so much of the table. Jane kept pace with Steve and Bucky, who kept pace with Thor.  Loki did his best to keep Ciara, Nat and Sif apart, but Darcy pulled him into a conversation on the Trio of Disaster’s training schedule while they were here, and next anyone knew, the three women were holding their own veritable court in the corner, loudly discussing their exploits, while women of the court hung on every word, and their husbands and fathers frowned mightily. Clint was in some discourse with Volstagg, which could not be good, nor could Fandral’s avid consultation with Bucky. Loki was starting to get a headache. Thor handed him a tankard with a sympathetic smile. It proved to be the very Dwarven Ale Thor had promised him, bitter and high in alcohol. Darcy grinned. “If you can’t beat them, join them,” she said as she went to join the ladies.   
  
Just to make his headache worse, Robin Goodfellow wandered in, to the delighted cheers of the children, as the Alfar gathered blanched slightly at the concept of these children considering Puck their friend. He mussed Natasha’s hair, congratulated Ciara and Darcy on their adoption, and went to play with the children. Loki was certain something would be broken by morning.    
  
“Steven, go keep Clint from irritating Volstagg into a competition. Zoe, Bucky and Fandral are planning some mischief, see if you can redirect them into something safer, would you? Thor, our sisters, please, I’m going to go supervise Puck and the children.”   
  
“Since when is Loki, god of Mischief, the responsible one?” Hogun asked teasingly.   
  
“Since my sisters and their children are  _ worse. _ ”   
  
It was because he was busy with the Trio and Puck that he missed what happened next.

 

***

 

“Who drinks more, Aesir or Alfar?” Darcy asked Sif in a low voice.

 

“Alfar. Why?”   
  
“Start a bet that none of the Midgardians can outdrink Aesir, I’ll bet that at least two  of the Midgard women can outdrink the Alfar. Let’s get this party going, shall we?”   
  
“You’re as crazy as your brother.” Sif said in a louder voice.   
  
“Which one?”   
  
“Yes.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

“Very well, I’ll lay a wager none of the Midgardians can drink as much as an Aesir. Volstagg! Come, we’re drinking!”

 

“PAH! I tell you, At least two of the Midgard-born women can out drink even an Alfar.” Darcy retorted, just as loudly.

 

And like that, the entire hall was engaged in the betting, with Darcy grinningly noting down who bet what. And Thor could do nothing about it. Shrugging, he joined in. As Darcy said, If you can’t beat ‘em...

 

***   
  


Steve drank until just after Thor dropped out. Bucky and several elves dropped out just after Volstagg. Sif gave up the fight when Fandral and Hogun passed out under the table. Alfar after Alfar after Aesir dropped from the running, and Darcy raked in the bet money. Finally, there were only five drinkers and six bets still going. Puck stood beside Darcy grinning, having gotten Loki and Frigga to put the four children to bed some time ago. Loki was drinking his ale and chiding a very drunk Thor. Clint had gone to bed, Steve leaned on Bucky for support, who was staring at his hand and giggling. Two Alfar, Natasha, Ciara, and, to the surprise of everyone but Darcy, Jane was still in the running when Odin stood and called for silence. Jane stopped rambling the latest data set at her neighbor, who seemed to have prior experience with drunk siedkonur and seidmadr, and simply nodded knowingly the entire time, and took another drink of her ever-full cup in the silence.   
  
“Enough. I drank oft enough with Lianver and Fordrian in my youth to know they can and will go on drinking for days if we let them.” the assembled host chortled at the truth of it, “As my daughter, grand daughter, and soon to be daughter in law show no signs of stopping either, I judge this contest a draw. That said, the bet was that at least two Midgard-born women could out drink an Alfar, THREE such women out drank all Aesir and all Alfar but two, The bet is held as won.” Many groans echoed as money exchanged hands.   
  


***

 

The next morning, there were many sore heads about. Indeed, all but Darcy, who did not drink at all, Nat and Ciara were looking a bit green around the gills. Taking pity on their hungover compatriots, the three took the children, except Zoe, who was following the healers around, out to the training field.

 

When the armsmaster, still looking a bit pale from his own indulgence, showed up,  he sat down to watch them training the children and smiled as ideas struck him.

 

“You fight as the Valkyrie did,” he commented.  “Lady Sif used some of their training techniques when she declared she wished to be a warrior.”

 

“There’s only so many ways for someone with a low center of gravity to fight,” Darcy said with a shrug.  “And if you want to win… well, that’s why we start the kiddos with our styles.  If the boys hit a growth spurt later we can throw them on Steve and Bucky.  I kinda doubt any Midgardian is gonna be quite as big as Thor, though.”

 

“You’d be surprised,” Ciara drawled.  Darcy looked at her.  “MacBain. Bears.  Conservation of mass.  You’ve met Roy, and Roy is a wolf-type. Some of his cousins are  _ bigger _ .”

 

“Ah,” Darcy said, blinking at that idea.  “Fair.  And Hulk isn’t exactly normal but he’s pretty burly too.”

 

“I have a rather long list,” the armsmaster interrupted, “of uppity trainees that need knocking down to size. Could I interest you ladies in doing so?”

 

The grins that answered him were definitely wolfish. Or, in Ciara’s case, fox in the henhouse.

 

When Loki came to collect his sisters for the trip to Nidavellir, the benches were full of shame-faced and weeping men...and no few who stared at his niece and sisters in open admiration. He sighed, “You know, sisters dear, you did not HAVE to break them all in one day, you could have spread them out over several days.”

 

“Awwww, Loki! But this is more fun!” Ciara whined.

 

“Don’t pout at me. We have work to do breaking other people. Trade negotiations with Nidavellir. Go get changed. Tasha, you, Clint, Zoe, and my old nurse, are on the Three. Along with any of the Warriors Three you see fit to co-opt. Do TRY and keep them mostly out of trouble. Tyr is cranky enough as it is.” He gave her a look that spoke volumes and she grinned.

 

“Of course I’ll TRY, Dyadya, but you know the twins and your daughter. We don’t call them Mischief, Mayhem, and Madness without just cause.”

 

“I’ll let Mother know you’re on it.”

 

He did his job.  If he did his job with code that would produce the opposite results… Well, no one could  _ prove  _ it, and so many eagerly-listening witnesses too…

 

***

 

King Eitri sighed and adjusted his throne’s support system.  Asgard was a close ally but trade negotiations were almost always made more aggravating than necessary due to their lack of any real craftsmen.  Sure, they could forge a simple blade, but over-sized pocket knives did not in any way equate to Nidavelli workmanship.  At least he’d been able to install the air-powered cushions in his throne before their arrival, so a sore back wasn’t going to result.  The ringing sound of the Bifrost touching down echoed through the throne room.  They’d be here soon.  He wondered who they were sending.

 

Please not Tyr, he prayed.  Please anyone but Tyr.

 

Maybe Loki.  He was actually pretty good company, and understood mage-craft well enough to know he did not understand forge-craft.  Although Eitri’s informants had passed word not long ago that Loki had been imprisoned.  Which seemed unfair, but then, Odin wasn’t really known for being able to see his tongs past his fire, so….

 

“My King!” called a runner from the doorway.  “Introducing His Highness Prince Thor Odinson, His Highness Prince Loki Friggason, Her Highness Darcy Lewis, and Her Highness Ciara Harrow, of Asgard.”

 

“Her Highness?” Eitri asked his aide, quietly.

 

“Must be a new development, although I’d prepare to be offended we weren’t invited, Sire,” said Ritva.  She understood these intricacies of politics the way he himself understood metal and energy, the tools of a far larger craft, one he knew she was a Master of, and he a Journeyman at best.  Slyly, she added “we can be glad we didn’t have to go in private.”

 

“King Eitri,” began Prince Loki, seeming none the worse for whatever rumored punishment he’d actually faced.  “I apologise for neglecting our correspondence, the Realms have been busy as of late.”

 

“Aye, well, we had a bit of trouble too,” Eitri admitted, looking carefully past the two women.  The darker haired one seemed to be eyeing the security.  The hidden, supposedly invisible security.  “I see you’ve managed to come away from such business with lovely prizes, I had not yet heard of Princesses of Asgard.”

 

“Our recently adopted sisters,” Loki said fondly, and the fire-haired sister placed a hand on his shoulder.  Now that Eitri knew to look, he could indeed see the kin-magic floating like thin threads of spidersilk in the air.  Bright blue-white flickered like lightning between Thor and the dark haired sister, and smoke-grey connected her to Loki.  Lady Frigga’s green-gold shadowed a teal thread betwixt Thor and the fire-haired, while a piebald strand of black, grey, and red linked her to Loki.

“Recently of Midgard,” Thor said, nudging his brother.

 

“Where I obtained a gift for you, King Eitri,” Loki continued.  If Eitri hadn’t known the boy from childhood, he’d have thought the performance rehearsed.  As it was, he could see the jolt as Loki moved from doting brother to diplomat.  “Schematics, drawn by Anthony Stark, a gifted craftsman of Midgard.”

 

“Midgard has gifted craftsmen now?” Eitri asked.  Ritva let out a small, pained groan, but Princess Darcy laughed, a high clear sound like bells or harps.

 

“Oh, trust me, we’re kinda slow on the uptake by our time-standards, but we can really go places if you give us a few decades.  Tony refused to draw those up for you until he got as much info out of Loki and Thor as he could, he wanted them to be actually useful.  It’s plans for a hydroponic farm.”

 

Eitri blinked.  Food was a constant shortage on Nidavellir, their home lacking much arable land and having short days and long nights.  Farming had been dismissed in the time of his grandfather as nearly impossible, making fresh fruits and vegetables a rich luxury food.  “A what kind of farm?” he asked, leaning forward in interest.  Princess Darcy took the scrolls from her brother and stepped forward to unroll blue and white sheets with finely drawn lines detailing pipes, lights, trays of fine mesh, and more.

 

“Seeds go here,” she said pointing.  “A growth medium, we like expanded clay for your purposes, but gravel works as well, and then you pump water through here.  Lights to feed the plants… we included generator plans if you need them, and voila, dirt-free farming.”

 

“A farm… with no soil?”

 

“Tony figures if we can do it in space, you can do it in a cave.  He would have come here to help set it up, but…” she hesitated.  Something odd, almost unsure flicked across her face.  “He’s not big on caves.  Instead, we have my daughter, Zoe Keener.  She helped pick the seed types and has said she’d be willing to come out to help you figure out problems on the plant-growth front if you ask a few weeks before you need her so she can schedule time off school.”

 

“A child helped…” Eitri trailed off, trying to figure out how a child could have given such detailed plans any assistance.

 

“She grows plants,” Darcy said simply.

 

Loki snorted.  “She, by your own words, nearly decapitated her useless broodmare with the closest thing a plant can be to pure evil.”  Turning to Eitri, he explained.  “Zoe is a skilled Seidkonur who specializes in plants.”

 

“This is… a generous offer to present so early in negotiations,” Eitri said warily.  Beware of Aesir bearing gifts, as the saying went.  It almost always caused a fight.

 

Loki blushed, an odd sight.

 

“It’s half apology,” he admitted.  “My sister is still upset at my role in the fall of the Bifrost, which we know cost your people greatly when the Rock Trolls attacked.  We became family as I attempted to learn from her how to repair that which one has broken, or had broken.  She suggested I make amends for instigating an ‘infrastructure disaster’ in the realms.”

 

“And don’t you feel better now,” Darcy teased.  

 

“You’re being a good role model for your nephews,” added Princess Ciara, not looking up from something in her hands.

 

“Ciara… don’t tell me you brought a TV remote,” Darcy said, face going pale.

 

“Of course not, but they have these little robot mice-things acting like roombas and I hate politics,” she replied.  Loki and Thor paled as well.

 

“Majesty,” Thor began slowly.  “I’m going to take her to the ordnance testing chamber to dispose of that.  We’ll be back shortly.”

 

With that, he all but picked up his sister and ran from the room.  Moments later there was a muffled bang similar to a forge-test gone wrong.  Then giggling.  Darcy was shaking her head and Loki was repressing laughter of his own.

 

“Right,” Eitri said, looking at the slightly-smokey forms of the two returning royals, “Nidavellir officially approves of the Princesses, make a note Ritva.”

 

Ritva sighed. This was going to result in … explosions. Lots of very problematic explosions. She could tell already.

***

 

As they sat for lunch, conversation turned to recent events, which, in turn, lead to discussing the Royal brother’s new families.

 

“Well we know Prince Thor and Prince Loki,” began the mildly stuffy Lord Bjarti, “but what of you, Princesses?  What be your crafts?”

 

“Well,” Darcy said, hoping to avoid a disaster by focusing the attention on someone other than the spymistress at the table, “Ciara crafts chaos, which is kinda how she’s Loki’s sister now.”

 

“And explosions,” Ciara said, nodding sagely, although her eyes were entirely too bright and happy for Darcy’s tastes in a foreign capital.

 

“And I network, connect people so that things can get--”

 

“Spies,” Ciara said, interrupting her double talk.  This is what she got for throwing her sister to the wolves, Darcy decided.  “You make spies to counter the spies.  And pretty bloodsplatter.”

 

“DO NOT!”  Darcy insisted.  This was why she used shock weapons, blood was  _ messy. _  “My husband and eldest daughter make blood splatter, I call the cleaners and bribe the dry cleaner with coping tools so nobody sees it.”

 

“I have video of you with brain matter in your hair.” 

 

“I was rescuing my son-in-law, needs must when the devil drives,” Darcy said primly.

 

“He and Nat hadn’t hooked up yet,” Ciara pointed out.

 

“Your point being?”

 

“Nothing,” Ciara smirked, “Just stating facts.”

 

“If we’re stating facts…” Darcy began warningly.   
  
“We’d be here all week,” Loki interrupted. “The two of you are nearly as busy as your children, and you have 32 children between the two of you, two of which are my pupils.”

“ _ Thirty-two _ children?” Lady Agda asked.   
  
“Darcy adopted 28 girls who are now grown, and two siblings who are adolescents.” Ciara shrugged. “She’s a busy woman. I have one set of twins. Who are chaotic enough at five that Loki was impressed and began teaching them magic at three.” Ciara grinned proudly.

 

“What about Little?” Darcy asked, frowning.  “Isn’t she yours too?”

 

“No, I was fostering her. Loki adopted her. So she’s his.”

 

“Why did you not bring your children with you? Who watches them?” Lady Agda asked curiously.

 

“Only two of Darcy’s daughters came to Asgard with us. Zoe is following the healers to learn about the uses for non-Midgardian plants. Natasha and her husband are watching my twins and Loki’s daughter. We did not bring them down because…”

 

“Because grown men run crying from the Three when they’ve a mind to do mischief,” Loki finished.   
  
“Which is always,” added Darcy.   
  
“Is not! Sometimes they build things instead.”   
  
“Like the paint-balloon catapult they used to prank Rumlow when they were two?”

 

“Yep!” Ciara grinned brightly. 

 

Lord Enokur smirked, “So when they aren’t doing mischief, they’re building things with which to do mischief?”   
  
Ciara’s grin grew, “Indeed. Which is why they stayed in Asgard. There are some stiff necks what need loosening there. They are quite good at fixing that. One way or another.”

  
  
  
  


“Well, why didn’t you SAY so,” gasped Lady Igrun, delighted.  “They sound marvelous.  Such smart children.”

 

“Would you like us to send for them?” Thor asked genially.

 

Ritva sighed, dreading already what was about to happen, “Might as well, curiosity has been aroused.”

 

“Heimdal? Send my nieces and nephews, please.”   
  
Loki cleared his throat and looked vaguely worried. "I must warn you, when you see my adopted daughter, you will have questions. I caution you not to ask them unless you are certain you desire the answer. She will tell you the unvarnished truth, and many truths of my daughter's past are... distasteful at best."

 

“Distasteful, how?” King Eitri asked with concern.   
  
Straight-faced, Loki answered as tactfully as he could, “She is blind and has no name because of her sire being…”   
  
“A complete and total asshat,” Ciara finished with her usual lack of diplomacy.

 

“Asshat?”   
  
“Yup, he wears his butt on his head. Like a hat.”

 

Eitri smirked, “I shall have to remember the word.”   
  
Ritva and Darcy buried their faces in their hands.

 

***

 

By the time the children arrived, Ciara and Eitri were sitting together in the corner, chortling and drawing diagrams of something on the table, which Loki pointedly ignored, prompting the others to do the same.

 

Lord Hallburger ignored this silent advice and looked at the diagram. He promptly blanched and became very thirsty.

 

The twins dive-bombed their mother and proceeded to talk in rapid chirps that no one could quite follow except Ciara. Turning to Natasha, Loki raised an eyebrow, “Well?”   
  
“Mission accomplished, and Tyr is having a very bad day that he can’t actually blame anyone for.”

 

“Who did you get involved?”

 

“Sif and Volstagg. Fandral couldn’t keep a straight face, so I sent him and Hogun off to distract the guard.”

 

“We laid eighteen perfectly innocent-looking traps for General Crankypants!” Little told her new Daddy brightly.

 

“Eighteen? In two hours?”

 

“One and a half. We had some more dumb trainees to teach first. Colin made them _ cry, _ ” Little answered proudly.

 

“There may have been some broken bones involved,” Nat clarified, drily. “Even on Aesir, collarbones are fragile.”

 

By this time the twins had moved on to Eitri, poking various bits and pieces about him and asking about details of the magics that only much older students should have picked up on. Eitri laughingly replied to all of their questions. In moments, the boys were on Loki, asking to learn to do this next, and that and that and that, and when can we work Uncle Tony’s forge? They had  _ plans _ , you see.

 

Eitri fell out of his chair laughing.

 

They wanted to make invisible, proximity-activated sentry guns that fired invisible paint that flared to mage sight and couldn’t be blocked or scrubbed off by magic, only by the special soap Dr. Simmons makes for their paint weapons.   
  
Eitri stopped laughing.

 

“That’s…. Ritva, agree to whatever they want, within reason. Include a dozen mage-sentry guns. I’m taking these two wee ones down to my forge to make them now. See if you can get the formula for that soap, too.”

“Your Majesty….”   
  
“I really don’t…”

 

“Wait! I’m coming too!” Little ran after the boys.

 

***

 

Ritva was not wrong about there being problematic explosions in the future, though HOW the vat of magic paint exploded remained a mystery. They had to have Heimdal send Dr. Simmons with as much of the soap as possible just to clean up the children. Four children, if you counted the king, which, at this particular moment, Ritva did. The room remained glowing to magesight. Eitri pointed out that the paint, soap, and guns all worked perfectly, though.

 

Little neglected to wash her hair and hummed a tune to make the glow visible to non-mages too. She also made it glow Loki-green.

 

Zoe spent two happy hours going over the hydroponics farm plans with the team of dwarves who would be making and running the first one, including care and feeding of the seeds that had been sent.    
  
Darcy spent the time with Ritva gleefully debating politics and government while Loki wrote up the contract and passed it to Ritva for review.

 

Clint had been discussing (arguing, most would say) weapons with an irascible old armorer, and somehow walked away with a new bow and a new friend behind him.

 

Nat and Thor played a two hour game of tag with the dwarrowlings, to the delight of their Dams.

 

Ciara had to be pried away from engineering  _ something  _ that had half the dwarves frowning in confusion, and the other half grinning in glee. Loki took one look and sighed.    
  


“You put a non-timed trigger in this one, right?”

 

Ciara waved a TV remote at him.   
  
“I thought you didn’t bring those?”   
  
“I didn’t know I did. Must’ve left it in this bag after the last mission...Oh. No. This is the one I stole from Frank and Marvin in Moldovia. I was wondering where I put that.”   
  
***

 

Sooner or later, all fun things come to an end, Darcy reflected.  At least King Eitri was a good bro and agreed to a decent amount of Asgard’s requests, and Loki was too busy being terrified of his family and amused by the children to try to sneak anything past.  So after getting the formula for paint-remover written down, Simmons was sent back to England by Bifrost, and the rest of them returned to Asgard.

 

“Well, that was fun,” she said, popping her back.

 

“Why’d Jemma go back to Earth, Mom?” Zoe asked.  She looked like she was maybe getting homesick.  Darcy pulled her into a hug.

 

“She’s helping track and contain the leftover bilgesnipe, Sprout,” Darcy said, petting her daughter’s hair.  It was nice to have a kid she could openly coddle.  “It needs to go home, London isn’t a safe habitat.”

 

“Bilgesnipe?” Ciara asked.

 

Thor groaned, Loki facepalmed elegantly.

 

Oh yeah.  This could get FUN.

 

***   
  
“Oh! It’s so CUTE!”   
  
Bucky sighed, “Ciara, it’s a seven-meter tall doom-lizard, with acid spit that reaks of the carrion it eats.”   
  
“EXACTLY! It should totally be hideous, but it’s even more adorable than a komodo dragon!”   
  
“Even… Are you saying Komodos are cute?”   
  
“They are! Caiman are too. Especially as babies, but even the grown ups have a cuteness to them.”

 

Bucky stared at her in disbelief.   
  
“James,” Loki sighed, “my sister is of the opinion that the more lethal a creature is, the more adorable it is.”

 

“Which explains  _ so much _ ,” Darcy observed, then gave Bucky an appreciative up-and-down leer. “Not that she’s  _ wrong… _ ”

 

Sif nodded sagely, “This, too, have I observed. On Jotunheim there is a most adorable feline. It is about 3 meters tall, with luxurious fur, and fangs as long as my arm. It is also venomous, and I have not seen a more adorable creature.”

 

Thor and Loki’s eyes met with a mutual grimace. Which only turned into a cringe at the next sentence from Sif.   
  
“One almost ate Thor once,” she pouted, “My brother wouldn’t let me bring it home, though.”

 

“Bummer,” Darcy said, nodding in sympathy.  “Oh, hey, Thor!  That’s what you meant!  Dude, I’d been massively confused by the early requests for a cat large enough to ride, because Asgard totally had cats in all the stories, but not even weegies are rideable.  You could have just told me about the adorable icy death cat.”

 

“Rideable?” Ciara said.

 

“Ciara NO!” yelled at least three men.

 

“Ciara YES,” Darcy said in glee.

 

Sif bounced in excitement and clapped her hands, Nat grinned giddily.

 

***

 

A rather stuffy Lord who Loki had never quite liked fainted.

 

A mother in the market tried in vain to cover her children’s eyes.

The children giggled and whooped.

 

Merchants pulled shelves of goods out of the street.

 

Chaos reigned supreme on Asgard, and despite many a dire prophecy Loki was not at the helm.  Instead, he sighed as his sisters, niece, and Sif cut impressively intricate maneuvers on bilgesnipes wearing improvised saddles of blankets and belts. All of the belts.

 

“I want to see how fast I can do the quarter mile on this, Darcy can you time me?” called Ciara over the din.

 

“Do you think you can hit seven seconds?” Darcy shot back.  Ciara grinned, and Nat whistled.

 

“Do it for the Vine, Ciara!” she called out.

 

Loki shuddered delicately and Steven patted his back.

 

“Loki, remember that time I wore a dress to get Mjolnir back, and how we swore to never speak of it again?” Thor asked, carefully holding his pants up. “Can we  _ actually  _ never speak of this?”   
  
“Agreed,” four men answered him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [liene ](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://i.pinimg.com/736x/3e/76/6a/3e766a366f16c8a7eefc06d340a4c346--traditional-irish-clothing-irish-tartan.jpg&sa=D&ust=1513197388486000&usg=AFQjCNEmGzSJw00MWuW0wju9S_n95rjh5g)
> 
> [ionar ](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q%3Dtbn:ANd9GcT6q1-Cug_UOigoBGnP8wstsApuh8JZBPYCJYYc6GOyHyKV1Lfr&sa=D&ust=1513197388485000&usg=AFQjCNFPx_GPLqU_Aa1_CKnI8tDmjHaruQ) though usually with sleeves similar to those on a doublet.
> 
> [arisaidh ](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://i.pinimg.com/736x/d4/6b/20/d46b200e291e7f0b6442221904d3b2ff--renaissance-clothing-renaissance-fashion.jpg&sa=D&ust=1513197388491000&usg=AFQjCNFKhDC9OLlkw7uhMVOsLz6HoyGNnA) The tartan over the shoulder and belted.
> 
> Babulya: Russian for Grannie  
> Vnuchka: granddaughter
> 
>  
> 
> The bilgesnipes are properly saddled in the Native American fashion, which calls for a saddle blanket but no saddle.


	24. Zoe and Little Spill the Plot Juice (because the Shadow Sibs adopt Little Shits.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DramaLlama attacks.

Little was happily chatting with Frigga about how she perceives and manipulates magic as music when Eir came to find them.   
  
Loki had told Eir of his new daughter’s injury and described her as being in some discomfort. Still, she was not expecting what she found.    
  
Standing silent for a moment, Eir reminded herself that Loki had never been one of the men who whined that they were dying when he had a cold, and his daughter wasn’t likely to do so either.

 

What she observed was, well, what she should have expected if she had remembered Loki tended to understate things. The girl quietly rubbed at her eyes and did not complain, but the healer could See the inflamed nerves, the dozens of minor abrasions, and the infection quietly glowing red and steadily growing. She’d have to look closer for the cause of so much damage, but she could already tell it was going to be much worse than what Loki described as “some scarring”. 

 

Steeling herself, Eir knocked on the open door, “Your pardon, Your Majesty, Prince Loki sent me to check his new daughter’s eyes.”

 

“Of course, Lady Eir, come in,” Frigga smiled. “Love, this is Eir, the chief healer here. Loki noticed your eyes appear to be discomforting you and asked for her.”

 

“Hello, Little one, may I have your permission to examine your eyes? My examination will not hurt,” Eir asked as she came to sit across from the diminutive child. A passive Look showed her that the girl was so small because of long running malnutrition, proper care would start her growing at the normal rate, but she would always be petite, the first six years could not be undone.  Energy could be coaxed into long-dry passages, but time was one barrier she had yet to overcome.  At the girl’s shy nod, Eir took a deep breath and began tracing the scar tissue and damage with her siedr. 

 

What she Saw left her in awe of the girl’s patience and endurance.

 

The vital energy that flowed to and from a mage’s eyes was blocked, entirely to be expected.  The blind tend not to have Sight any more than they have sight.  However, the energy had not withered, but forged a new pathway to her ears.  That would have caused great pain, disorientation, and distraction while the girl adapted to Hear, rather than See.  Most young mages would have required weeks of detailed care to survive, care Eir doubted this one received after being blinded so.

 

The backs of the eyes still lived, living flesh and dead meeting at the edges of the visible eye, clearly from a splashed weapon.  The boundary on the surface was the source of the infection, but it would soon overtake the fluid within and cost her what remained of her eyes.  Eir nudged a small, subtle thread of seidr to find and measure the edges, so she could treat the illness more rapidly.  Time was limited to reverse the ravages of infection.

 

Returning to the world around her, Eir sighed. “We shall have to take it in stages. I cannot undo the source of the problem till the infection has been dealt with thoroughly. I shall eliminate the infection now, if it has not returned by tomorrow, I will then fix the rest of your discomfort.”

“Will it hurt?” Little asked.

 

Eir shook her head, “No more than it already does. It should just feel strangely warm. If it does hurt, you must tell me. Ready?”   
  
Little nodded firmly.

 

***

 

Zoe followed Underhealer Krydda through the gardens, learning each plant’s name and uses, helping each one along just a little. The ones that grew even in winter grew just a bit more, flourished and became greener; the ones waiting for spring got just a bit more rest out of their hibernation. As they came to the border of the Healers’ garden and the Queen’s Garden, Zoe smelled something out of place. Roses. 

  
“OH! You have roses that bloom in winter?”   
  
Krydda’s face betrayed her confusion, “No. We do not. Why do you ask?”

 

“I smell roses,” Zoe answered, edging closer to the smell. “If you don’t have roses that bloom in winter, why do I see bushes of blooming roses in the other garden?”

 

“What?” Krydda came closer, warily, “Possibly some mage’s experiment, though it doesn’t seem something Loki or Frigga would do, and I know of no other mages who have access to those gardens….”

 

“I think I have access now, since the queen adopted my mom, can we go look?”

 

“I suppose so, but we’d better check with Eir or Frigga first...Just in case.”

 

When they got into the garden, Frigga and Little at their side, the sun was just setting. And the pink, white and yellow roses stood out in the dusk.

 

“Oh!” gasped Krydda.

 

“They glow!” squeaked Zoe.   
  
“Most lovely!” smiled Frigga.

 

Approaching softly, Zoe cupped a  dewed, but not frosted, blossom in her hands. “It’s warm! Just a little, like holding a person’s hand.”

 

“Well, yeah,” Little fidgeted uncomfortably, “If I didn’t teach them to warm themselves, the blossoms would have died immediately.” 

 

Zoe’s head went sideways as she considered the much younger girl before her. “Would you help me make a greenhouse for the healer’s plants? I can show them the ordinary designs and help the plants acclimate, but I can’t ensure the building stays warm beyond the usual…”

 

Little fidgeted briefly then shrugged, “That depends on what you want. In the rings, we were underground in cold tunnels; we couldn’t heat them much without the vehng and jh’leng noticing and finding out about our magics. But little enough and it’s easy, it’s more about sealing drafts out and enhancing what’s there….”   
  
“Tomorrow, girls,” Frigga laughed, as Zoe opened her mouth to respond. “You can work tomorrow. Tonight is for feasting, and you both must get ready.” 

 

***

 

The next morning, Zoe spent mostly with Steve, getting the plans drawn out for the greenhouse, knowing she’d have Little to help with the heating and sealing against weather made her more certain it would work as intended.

 

“Hey, come on,” she called at the door to Loki’s room, where Little had moved in.  “I want to get started on the greenhouse!  I know you aren’t  _ that  _ slow.”

 

“Why must you yell, little seidkonur?” asked a decidedly pale Loki, opening the door.

 

“I came to pick Little up so we could go work on the greenhouses together,” Zoe said, eyeing her Uncle.  “You don’t look good.”

 

“It’s called a hangover,” he replied dryly.  “Be grateful you are not yet old enough to be allowed such misery by your mother.”

 

“Yeeeah,” Zoe drawled.  “We have a mutant health and wellness class.  I know what a drunk mutant can do.  I’m not interested in alcohol and it has nothing to do with Darcy.”

 

“Then be grateful you have such wisdom and leave us unfortunates who did not to our suffering,” he sighed.

 

“I don’t think so,” Zoe said, and stepped into his rooms.  Digging in her bag she got the roots Eir and Krydda had given her, and coaxed an extra node off of two of them, and infused the budding root-growth with more life before snapping them off and healing the open place from dividing.  “I need hot water,” she said.

 

Loki waved a hand at the fireplace, where a small kettle was heating.  Zoe sniffed the contents to make sure it wasn’t already tea, and poured the water into a mug from the small built-in shelf beside the fireplace.  Into that went the right roots, and one precious seed she turned into a blossom.  “Drink that,” she ordered.

 

Loki looked amused, but drank it.  “That is… I feel much better.”

 

“Told ya,” Zoe said, smirking.  “Where’s Little?”

 

“I believe she’s at the training grounds.”

 

“Okay, bye Uncle Loki!”

 

Little was, indeed at the training grounds, chortling evilly as Nat smashed some poor, cocky fool’s face into the ground.

 

Off to the side, some idiot was adamantly, vociferously insisting that Nat couldn’t take him. The old armsmaster grinned as evilly as Little was chortling. Zoe sat beside Little, eager to see what the Armsmaster had planned.   
  
“Then I suppose THREE opponents would be easy for you as well?” he asked, warning in his tone.

 

The warning went unheeded. “Of course,” grinned the moron, “Provided they aren’t Thor.”

 

“Oh, they aren’t Thor.  Stand at the ready,” saying nothing further, he turned and looked at Little, then Colin and Caddell. Grinning, none of the three gave the man any warning. Or mercy.  

 

Zoe sat down beside the man to wait.  She watched them demolish their current victim, then turned to the Armsmaster.  “Sir, may I borrow Little sometime soon?” she asked politely.  “I know she’s good for training, but I would like to finish working on the greenhouses before we leave.  If that’s acceptable?”

 

He blinked at her.  “You’re a Princess,” he said sort of slowly.

 

“My Mom is,” she corrected.  “Or grandma, it’s kinda hard to tell since her daughter is my Mama Nat.  But yeah, I guess.  Why?”

 

“Princesses order, not ask.”

 

Zoe snorted rudely.  “Then Princesses are jerks and I don’t want to be one,” she said.  “Hard pass.  So, can Little come help me soon, or should I get lunch first?”

 

“I want to finish training,” Little called from the arena.  “I like acceptable targets.”

 

“Okay, I’ll be in the kitchens!” Zoe called back.  “Thank you for watching them, Armsmaster.  They need good training, and better targets.  Uncle Tony is still working with my brother on animatronics, but they don’t fight  back well yet.”

 

“Nah,” said the Armsmaster, “for a good opponent, ye’ll allus need a live one. Th’ dummies be for when ye need th’ rote learnin’. Ye ken? No animatronic is going to do unexpected things. Take Kilgar over there, for example,” he waved to the man nursing his wounded face (and pride) as Nat waved him off disgustedly. “M’lord’s father buys only th’ best…. And he thinks tha’ means he can take on the best  _ people. _ ”

 

“That poor idiot,” Zoe said, shaking her head.  “Bad parents suck monkey butts.”

 

Armsmaster Berrik laughed heartily, “That they do, young one. Tha’ they do.”

 

***

 

It wasn’t till after they got back from playing with the dwarves that they finally got down to work on the greenhouse. Naturally, they did so while perched in the rafters of the main entrance hall.

 

“Norns, that woman’s dress is hideous!”   
  
“What dress?”   
  
“It’s this nauseating chartreuse, fuschia, olive, and azure paisley. Mostly chartreuse, and they’re all swirled together. It looks like someone was on drugs and threw up all over her.”

 

“EEEEW. Who let her wear that?”

 

“Perhaps drug-puke is all the rage here?”

 

“I will keep being unfashionable, then,  _ thank you _ .”

 

Elsewhere, word of their pastime reached their parents.

 

“Must they?” asked a pained senior servant.

 

“I’d say so,” Darcy sniffed.  “That dress sounds like a crime against sighted people, which means Little is uniquely qualified to fight it.”

 

“Just be glad my niece has not taken to rafter-jumping like her cousin,” Loki replied.  “Yet.”

 

“That might be preferable to the chaos of insulted court ladies, actually,” the servant grumbled.

 

***

 

Loki grinned. The judgemental heckling from the rafters had foiled no less than six political maneuvering plots. And things were about to get distinctly worse for the schemers. Colin and Caddell had decided it was time to play Counting Coup. Little and Zoe had decided their targets based on observations from their perch in the entry hall.

 

A few lords had been a little too smug about their fellows being caught out; Little had confirmed that this was because they had plans of their own.  That was not to last.

 

Lord Janovvar was caught literally red handed when a paint trap triggered as he attempted to plant a handkerchief from another Lord’s wife in his rival’s room.

 

Lady Friann discovered the itching powder in her corset right before she went to tell Frigga of another Lady’s political indiscretions, and said Lady ended up not meeting the Alfar spy ring she’d arranged to meet, because somehow, every hall between her and them was being mopped up.

 

Lord Evarik had the tainted food he’d sent to his mistress’s husband routed back to him.

 

Lord Timtri was in fine lather accusing his long standing rival Lord Korvin of stealing official documents, when Odin interrupted to reveal the documents in question, found earlier that day in Lord Timtri’s rooms.

 

Lord Korvin, in turn, was chased from the room of Lady Friann, who was not his wife and the reasons behind the visit were unclear, by miniature barbarians in blue paint and wielding very real looking weapons. They chased him, howling, through the place, around the courtyard,  and to the training grounds, where Lord Korvin finally collapsed and let them beat at him with the flats of their blades.

 

No fewer than five private servants spontaneously received invitations to change employment from Queen Frigga herself, having seen and dodged the rampaging children.  Darcy later commented to one poor soul who  _ didn’t  _ dodge in time, “It’s okay, Midgardians often have that problem, even with years of practice.”  This was less than reassuring.

 

***

 

It would be understandable to mistake the eldest actual child of the Royal Family of Asgard for the nice, quiet, harmless type.  Understandable, but totally wrong.  Zoe was quiet, but there the image she projected and the reality of the matter ended.  From her strong insistence on politeness to anyone with skill (and zero respect for those without), to her meteoric rise through most of the training the healers could give, she gained many allies in the palace, each more capable than the last no matter the order you lined them up in.  From her fiery hatred of unfairness and her stubborn ways, she gained at least as many enemies.

 

“What’s going on here?” Steve-Dad asked, looking at her and the idiot who hit Chef Mundr, currently locked in a staring match.  Zoe’s eyes weren’t quite right for staring matches, but that meant she could look at Steve-Dad while also freaking out Lord Whatshisnuts.

 

“He. Hit. The. Cook.” Zoe dragged out.  Her lip curled.  “He was the idiot who ordered something that takes a day to cook with less than an hour to spare.  It’s his fault it’s not done yet, it’s not like Chef Mundr has a tardis in his pantry.”

 

_ You are just like me.  _ Steve-Dad signed carefully. _ It’s going to drive Bucky nuts. _

 

Out loud, he cleared his throat and said “I really expected better of a place supposedly more advanced than Earth.  I don’t know why, but I did.”

 

The idiot caught between two potent Looks buckled and fled.

 

“So I assume you didn’t come just to help me fight Lord Jerkface McSnobberson,” Zoe said, turning to one of her adoptive fathers.  “What’s up?”

 

“Little has the enchantment done on the foundations of your greenhouse, and Eitri sent the building supplies for it.  Well, I suspect it was actually Lady Igrun, she was really interested in the idea of indoor gardens.  But the builders want you to be there when they put up the walls.”

 

“Okay, Eystienn has been a good sport about the whole thing.  Building with glass isn’t like building with rock or metal, but he’s doing a good job trying new things.”

 

***

 

Little rounded a corner in the hall she was exploring. The way ahead was blocked by some 8 people. Preteens, by their voices. Seven had one up against a wall, hardly fair odds, for non-Family children, at least. Drawing back her hood, she leveled a stare at them and cleared her throat to get their attention. Drawing some quick conclusions from the sounds of their clothes and from their body language, she straightened further and glared.   
  
“Seven on one? Hardly  _ noble _ behavior, no matter what a servant has done, and I strongly doubt anyone not even an adult in technicality yet has managed treason or murder.”

 

“Yeah, what’s to say he didn’t?” the tallest asked snidely. “Loki…”

 

He didn’t finish. 

 

Because Little’s foot hit his throat.

 

“Watch how you talk about MY Pabbi.”

 

“Loki isn’t here, and you are hardly royal blood, Ratling,” said the largest one, his voice coming in spurts and gaps of low and high.  It grated on her ears.

 

“She’s no rat,” said another, nasal and whining.  “She’s hardly a Mouse!”

 

The others picked up the call and repeated the word, a taunt, a chant, and under it a sad song she’d heard before.  A Naming.  That would… not end well.

 

“Well,” she said calmly and drily. “Now you’ve done it. You’re going to die. Probably horribly.”

 

“Was that a threat?” asked a boy arrogantly.

 

“No. Just a fact. Everyone who Names me dies horribly,” Little shrugged, as if their impending deaths were of no matter to her.  “Which is why you should be more careful with your words.”

 

One in the back started to run when the servant child gasped and snagged his sleeve.  Moments later a guard passed their alcove, spear at the level of the nervous one’s head.

 

“She’s telling you the truth,” he whispered, and turned and ran after the guard, whispering something in his ear before returning. “We’re all staying here,” he said with new authority, “So I can make sure no one dies until help comes.”   
  
“Told you so.”

 

“Wh-what just happened?” the nervous boy asked fearfully.

 

“I told you. People who name me, die. I don’t know why there’s a curse. There just is.”   
  
“What do we do?”he squeaked.   
  
“I don’t know. No one’s ever lived long enough to do anything. To have a second chance. Maybe if you Un-Name me? Take it back? But I don’t know. Pabbi and Oma will know.”

 

“YOU take it back,  _ Mouse _ ,” growled the burly one, clenching his fists.

 

“I can’t, I didn’t do it. And I wouldn’t try to fight me right now. I have more training than you, and the curse is sure to make accidents happen.”

 

“Pah!” sneered the tall one, “You’re just a girl, and a baby to boot. Training, my left foot.”

 

“All day, every day, for three years, under the best there is.” She shrugged. “It’s your life you’re risking. You decide what you do with the minutes you have left. I suggest you wait for Loki and Queen Frigga to break the curse  _ before  _ you do anything stupid, though. Fight me tomorrow, if you want. I’ll be on the training grounds after breakfast. Just not right now.”

 

Just then, Loki and Frigga arrived, Odin, Ciara and Thor behind them,  _ looking  _ calm and collected, but sounding to Little’s ears like they were only barely not out of breath, like they’d run from the other end of the palace and slowed to walk the last few yards.

 

Odin looked grim, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Ciara shoved a cookie in it, silencing him.

 

“Come, boy,” Thor interrupted, looking kindly at the servant boy, “You have done well by these who were not doing well by you, but you are unaffected, and those of us not involved should leave this space for those who are needed.”

 

Ciarra tugged on Odin’s hand, hauling him away like a five-year old who wants to show their daddy something “cool” and Thor followed after, ushering the boy along gently. 

 

“What’s your name then?” he asked as they headed away.   
  
“Gun Jianneson.”   
  
“Your mother? What of your father?”   
  
“Ma hasn’t  _ ever _ told anyone who he was. Not even when six different mistresses in a row fired her for it.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

They rounded the corner and out of earshot, Loki and Frigga breathing easier as they did.

 

“Beloved, Mother will take care of the curse,” Loki said as Frigga got to work, “she’s better at it than I am. Walk with me?”

 

They headed the opposite direction Thor had gone, silently until they turned the corner, Loki’s steps shortened  to match his daughter’s.    
  
“Tell me,” he prompted.

 

She did, he listened quietly as she wove the tale.

 

Loki smiled softly down at his daughter, “Little one, you know you don’t have to fight my battles for me, right?”

 

Little snorted rudely and rolled her eyes, “Of  _ course _ I have to when you aren’t there. Just like you’re going to fight some battles for me when I can’t fight them myself. It’s what family does.”

 

***

 

The next morning, while two of the boys had come forward with heartfelt apologies and received forgiveness for being terminally stupid, the remaining five had instead sent a challenge to fight Little.  Odin was quietly furious, but Darcy had taken Frigga aside and explained the Midgard tradition of “Soccer Moms” and as such, the match was attended by the entire Royal Family (including Jane, who when told why this fight was happening, put down the thing she was taking apart and showed up with a make-shift noise maker) filling one half of the small arena’s seating.  Most of the arrangements made a certain sense, if you tilted your head and suspended sanity, families grouped by closeness, partners sitting together, children next to or held by parents.  The exception was Gun, who’d been picked up by Thor and placed between himself and Jane.  Jane absently placed a headband with springs holding a small placard reading “do not meddle in the affairs of dragons” (A wise saying, but what does it have to do with sparring? Gun wondered) on him and offered a bag of candied nuts as she prepared to cheer on Little. He was much bemused by this turn of events.

 

“Kick his ass sweetie!” Jane yelled as Little was doing stretches.

 

“Two, Four, Six, Eight, Little One is Doing Great,” Clint chanted as the first opponent hit the sand with a meaty thud.

 

“Eight, Six, Four, Two, We’re the Best, Who Are You!” Natasha cheered as another was tossed across the space.  She’d stolen various items of clothing and was in a deep red cheerleader outfit made of one of Darcy’s sweaters and a skirt that had belonged to Sif.

 

“Mess with the Best, Die like the Rest!” Ciara yelled, her face covered in paint, as were those of the boys beside her.  Uncharacteristically, the paint was grey and black, not blue or green, but Little had applied it herself.  Beside her the boys were screaming something that had Clint giggling, Frigga sighing happily, and everyone else with Allspeech looking disturbed.

 

“Hands up, hands up!” Steve yelled as one of the boys got a lucky swipe in.  Little spat blood and shot a glare at him.  The fact he was wearing a foam finger that clashed garishly with everything around him earned a smile from the glare.  “Head in the game, Kiddo!”

 

“Steílte ton ston Tártaro,” Darcy shouted.

 

“Mors aut victoria!” Zoe agreed and got a cheerful glare from her mother.  “Keep with the times, Mama D, Romans were totally better.”

 

“I’ve raised a heathen,” Darcy despaired.  “My mother will disown me.”

 

“No she won’t,” Zoe dismissed.  “Nana Liz loves having grandkids.”

 

“Go high, go high!” Loki cheered, interrupting the two as Little used one boy’s back as a springboard to kick another in the face.

 

Bucky’s only contribution to the raucous cheering was the subtle click of a camera shutter and the occasional flash.  Zoe poked his side in silent question, and he shrugged.  “It’s neither fair nor polite to distract the fighters.  Besides, I know the outcome, she fights like my girls did.”

 

As the largest, most aggressive bully faced off with Little, the last one still standing through his willingness to use his fellows as meat-shields, Frigga whistled sharply, and the assembled riot hushed.  The skirmish that followed was short and brutal, and left the bully grey-faced and gasping as healers pulled him from the sand.

 

“That was most impressive, my Little Love,” she congratulated.  “Now, go clean yourself up and remind yourself where you are.  We shall have whatever you like for dinner, because as your family, we love you.”

 

Little nodded and accepted the hug her pabbi offered.

  
  
  



	25. A Wizard Should Know Better (How The Trio Traumatize Mages)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're running a bit behind.... Actual christmas post will be sometime this week.   
> Merry Christmas!

Ingeborg sighed as yet another student came into her study in tears. This was the seventh one in three days, the other siedkonur and siedmadr reported similar occurrences. Fully half of the mage-apprentices and journeymen were in tears, because some variable quantity of children kept interrupting their work, telling them they were “doing it wrong” and then disappearing. Some of the masters had come in soon enough after to look at the traces of their pupils’ magic. One and all had found that the student  _ had  _ been off, usually by such a tiny amount that only a master should have seen it. The children had vanished without a trace, and no lingering magic, completely confounding pupils and masters alike.   
  
The pupil currently in front of her had been only lifting an apple; when she lost her concentration due to the firm insistence from a “tiny” child, it had promptly become applesauce, all over  Ingeborg’s apprentice, causing her to be in hysterics. Nothing for it now, the girl’d be hopeless for the rest of the day. Shaking her head, Ingeborg sent her to the healers for a calming draught and went to check on the rest of her students, before something worse than a mulched apple and tears happened.

 

Jor was sniffling as he cleaned up his workroom from his own mess today, but the rest seemed to be doing alright. That just left one. Her personal headache. Sissel was more advanced than her other students, but she was prone to reckless experimentation. Ingeborg had put Sissel’s workroom well away from the rest in an effort to contain any catastrophes.

 

As she approached, she heard a child’s voice scolding her problem pupil.

 

“The laws of physics exist for a  _ reason.  _ Complete lack of gravity leads to a whole lot of ‘everyone dies, the end.’  Next time you plan to break gravity,  _ keep it to YOURSELF. _ ” The tiny thing huffed, turned on her heel and jumped out the window. 

“Sloppy, sloppy,” chided one of the identical boys, while the other pulled a truly formidable disappointed face, before they, too, disappeared.

 

The one student who probably needed to be in tears was shocked but not yet in tears, so Ingeborg cleared her throat. “She’s right you know. You wouldn’t listen to me. Now you’ve found that even children know better than you.” Giving her own Disappointment Face as what had just happened slowly dawned on Sissel, she added, “I think that’s quite enough experimentation for today. I will ask Prince Loki to assign his students to tutor you in safety tomorrow. Go to your rooms.”

 

In the window, a Raven cawed merrily.

 

***

 

Chef Mundr was rubbing his temples as he tried in vain to deal with the stubborn, arrogant, idiotic noble in front of him, making ridiculous demands.  His head was pounding and it wasn’t lessening the more the other man droned on and on.

 

“You’re doing it wrong,” said a small, high voice drily.  “Honestly, you're so off key it's a wonder every mage in Asgard isn't bearing down on you already.”

 

Prince Loki’s daughter hopped up onto a counter and began eating a piece of fruit.  Mundr liked her, she had the same reasonableness and compassion that Mistress Zoe had, underlain with a wit sharper than some of his own prize knives.

 

“Of course, maybe they are and you just can't tell because they're that much better than you," the girl continued around a mouthful of winter apple.  Mundr smiled as the idiot spluttered and his own headache faded.  Magic, he snorted to himself.  Always did give him a nasty headache.

 

The spluttering mage turned bright red as Mundr began cleaning the butchering set.  There was a roast planned for Yule, so a sharp knife was necessary.  If it made the other man quake and run, that was only gravy on the potatoes.  “Off my counters, Little Pepper,” he chided gently.  “They’ve had raw meats on them, you’ll get sicknesses on your pretty new things.”

 

“Meh,” the girl replied blithely, “Blood’s easy to wash out once you get the hang of it.”

 

“Still, I need them for cooking.  Take some fruits to your cousins and let me cook.  I’ll be putting out some chocolate cranberry tarts tonight, yes?”

 

The littlest Princess smiled brightly and stashed various fruits in pockets about her person before scampering away.

 

The next day, Mundr helped point an exasperated Loki in the direction of the third lesser pantry where the poor unfortunate from the day before had barricaded himself to avoid further criticism of his mage work from tiny masters of the craft.  It was honestly a bit sad, really, to watch such tiny children take the responsibility for fully adult mages, but Odin had introduced a few new orders involving mage education and as long as Mundr stocked the correct treats, the three kept mages away from him, which helped his allergies tremendously.

 

Even if half the court had spent half the week as nervous wrecks from  Odin roaring with laughter every time one of his Ravens came to report to him, Mundr thought it was well worth it.

 

***

 

After much discussion with the four children about the season, Frigga had small Christmas trees put up around the various rooms, with a giant one in the Great Hall and a second of equal size in the Servant’s Commons. They had been quite clear that Christmas was for  _ everyone _ and everyone was to get presents. So everyone in the palace from the grand to the grubby got presents. Because Frigga said so. Because her grandbabies said so. By the day before Christmas Eve, everyone in the palace had one present beneath one of the two great trees, and many had taken to the smaller trees to leave personal presents for their friends and family. The only problem was that “No peeking” appeared to be a difficult concept to grasp, as half the court could be found at one point in the day or another trying to find their presents and figure out their contents. 

 

Frowning, the trio of chaos had a furious whispered conversation with Thor, who beamed. Within the hour, Sacha the Ovcharka and Charna the Borzoi, as well as a young hound from the palace kennels of Asgard for Little, whom she dubbed Kenny, were present and saddled, and the Three, plus Little’s new friend Gun on his own mount, were armed with blunted spears. 

 

Grinning wildly and howling, they rode through the halls in the armor Tony made them the day they met him, their spears leveled, on their war mounts, chasing down any they caught peeking at presents. Lord and servant alike ran and dove out of the way of the racing dogs, but when they complained to Odin, they blanched pale, for all he did was double over with laughter.

 

***

 

The next morning, the blanching was more widespread, and joined by a smattering of giggles quickly suppressed. Odin came in to breakfast in the Great Hall first, with Little riding merrily on his shoulders, wearing a particularly elaborate daisy crown. He was followed by Thor,  how bore Caddell on his shoulders and a vibrant bevy of petunias in his beard. Colin was flirting famously with Frigga, and had given her the flower of the single ugliest weed to grow in the gardens, which she wore with pride...almost terrifyingly, it actually matched her dress reasonably well.


	26. Christmas presents for everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shenanigans and gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which our playlists dictate much shenaniganing.

Royal Guardsman Jorgen was feeling very much put upon. The Einherjar had been pressed into service taking presents from the royal family to their friends and family on Midgard. This in itself was not a problem, the problem was what all came with it.

 

The boat he’d be flying into the bifrost to the embassy and thence to the Tower of Prince Tony had been modified to have sleigh runners. Loki had laid a glamor upon Jorgen’s armor so as to be a strange pattern of red and white with black boots and belt. Mistress Zoe had firmly planted a hat upon his head that was floppy and red with a white trim and ball on the end.

 

“Must I?” he asked, feeling a bit petulant.  Normally Einherjar training prevented such back-talk, but the outfit was ridiculous and Princess Darcy had said several times not to be so formal.

 

“Well, we could find someone else,” said that same Princess, with a sad look in her eyes, “but I asked Odin who the most capable guard was, because to be Santa is a great honor.  If you want to pass it to the next-most loyal guard, I suppose that would do…”

 

“No!” Jorgen yelped, snatching the entirely unnecessary reins tacked onto the boat.  “I’m honored to have been chosen.  Are all ready for my departure?”

 

“One minute,” came a tiny voice from under a mound of striped fur.  “I gots to get your Rudolph in place!”

 

“Rudolph?”

 

“Rudolph the mutant Reindeer,” Mistress Zoe said, helping adjust the horned animatronic beast at the fore of the boat.  “This is a cat, but that’s okay.  It’s simply important that the sleigh is pulled by a mutant creature with superpowers.  Or at least led by.  Colin, stop fussing with the laser pointer, it’s not going to stick straight out, and that’s alright.”

 

“Okay, kids, I think that’s as much help as Santa can take, right now,” Captain Rogers said, pulling his daughter into a hug that lifted her feet a hands-width off the ground.  “Thanks for this, Jorgen, it means a lot to the kids and I’m real glad you’ve been such a good sport letting them help.”

 

The simple praise warmed him from the gut, like good mead.  The Good Captain had become somewhat a legend in the Einherjar barracks for his great skill in knowing just what a soul-wounded soldier needed to hear to heal quickly.  He was the sort of honest, noble soul that called others to be noble as well.

 

“My honor, Sir.  Is there anything else?”

 

“Oh!” Princess Darcy said, snapping her fingers.  “When you get to the Tower, you’ll be challenged by the guardian, he’s non-corporeal, don’t freak.  He may want verification of who sent you, tell him I measured, your heart is not three sizes too small.  Then listen to him when he directs present placement.”

 

Jorgen sighed and memorized the words quickly, certain this whole thing was doomed, then finished loading up his boat-sleigh, sighing. Finally, when he had no further excuses to put it off, he mounted up and headed for the bifrost. Santa Claus, indeed.

 

***

 

Tony woke at the slight sound of Jarvis using his “formal” voice, which he shouldn’t do with just family in the Tower apartments.  Pepper shifted beside him and Tony placed one hand lightly on her shoulder and another over the light of the arc reactor.

 

“Jarvis?” he whispered.

 

“It is nothing, Sir, please return to sleep.”

 

“Bullshit, I heard you.”  The sound of a short command echoed back to Tony from the common room.  “I still hear you.”

 

“Well,” Jarvis said somewhat pained, “I had meant to maintain secrecy to preserve what I believe is called ‘the magic of the season’, but we have a non-hostile intruder in the common room placing presents under the tree.”

 

“Offer him some of whatever Bird-brain baked most recently and a glass of milk,” Tony said instinctively, his snark and the secret hope of too many crushed childhood dreams mingling to keep his feet firmly under the covers.

 

“I have done so,” Jarvis said, and Tony could hear the merry chortle from the common room, warming up joyful processors left long unused before the adoption of children and the forming of the world’s weirdest nuclear family (one of whom was literally nuclear).  “He has asked I relay a message.”

 

“What is that?”

 

“He says, and I quote “Merry Christmas to all…””

 

“And to all a good night,” Tony finished, falling asleep with a grin.

 

***

 

The next morning, all the residents of the upper levels of the Tower found presents beneath the tree that had not been there the night before.   
  
For Tony, there was an animatronic horned cat designed by Eir to soothe PTSD, the size of a St Bernard.

 

Harley’s present was an utterly unmagical pair of work gloves handmade by Frigga.  This is because he reacted badly to Asgard tech, but it’s actually a big deal, since the Queen of Asgard isn’t supposed to do manual labor (magic labor is fine, but the line is so narrow she didn’t want to risk it.)

 

Bruce got an Asgardian Science Book (as did Maya, Betty, basically all the Scientist Corps, each book in the specific field of it’s recipient.) and Hulk got a plushy icey-death-kitty proportionate to him.  It’s non-animated but super durable. (And not a bit of “genuine fur,” nor normal-cat colors.  It’s blues and seagreens, so it’s not like he’s the only crayola in the box.)

 

Pepper got several bolts of fine Vanaheim silks in golds and blues (they saw her fighting, her armor is blue.)

 

Rhodey unwrapped one science book from the Royal Family, and also a paperweight that projected a hologram of Heimdall guarding the papers.  (Heimdal gets the plight of someone who reports to a boss who asks for things that may not be what you want.)

 

Phil got a bottle (a small one, for safety) of the Asgardian “good stuff” for keeping the new royals alive long enough to get there.  There was also a note from Heimdal informing him he perma-won the Asgard edition of the “Not My Circus” award upon the addition of Ciara to the Royal Family.

 

Skye got a family album, of moving illuminated art of both the Asgard and Midgard branches of her family.  (One page in the back was added later by Heimdal, it’s Matt, getting his diploma.)

 

***

 

Little was waiting patiently for the others to wake up so they could unwrap presents, and “writing” her reports so far. Since no one was awake, it was quiet enough that the little tablet Tony had given her, to help her read and write when Braille wasn’t available, could easily pick up her voice clearly. She had finished most of her reports and was dictating the war-party through the halls when her pabbi came in, she smiled up at him and told the tablet to save her location.

 

“Hello, Pabbi, Merry Christmas.”   
  
“Merry Christmas, my love. What’s this you’ve been doing?”

 

“Tante Darcy has us filing reports on all our activities while we’re here. I got busy and fell behind on them, so I was catching up while no one was awake.”

 

“Ah. Yes, accurate reports are important to practice. How much more do you have to do?”

 

“I finished all the ones from the rest of the week, only sending Jorgen down to Midgard and about half of the Present Protection War Party to go.”

 

“Excellent! Let us go wait for the others by the tree then.”

 

***

 

The Family Tree was in Frigga’s Solar, where the now-officially-named Christmas Sunrise roses shining through the windows lit the room softly, as Christmas lights on the mantle do on Midgard. 

 

Little and Loki were not alone in the quiet happiness of the room for long before Ciara and the twins, still in their pajamas, arrived. They were followed shortly by the Barns-Lewis-Rogers trio. Darcy’s tablet pinged as she came into proximity with Little’s tablet and the completed reports filed themselves properly.

 

The little boys, and Clint, who had just entered with Natasha, shrieked in affront, “No Working on CHRISTMAS!”

 

“Issa Rule!” Colin added firmly, as Caddell nodded.

 

Jane agreed as she and Thor entered, Odin and Frigga behind them. “It  _ is _ a rule, if I’m not allowed to Science, then there shall also be no reports today.”

 

“It was an accident!” Darcy protested.  “I only brought the tablet to play the holiday playlist I made with, but I haven’t had it out much this trip so it must have not had time to sync with Little’s.”

 

“You are forgiven if that playlist does not have ‘Last Christmas’ or ‘All I want for Christmas is you’,” Jane said waningly.  “They had potential, but the media saturation makes me hate them.”

 

“It’s free and clear of any pop music,” Darcy assured.  “It’s for the whole family and I figured Odin wouldn’t care for the newer stuff.  So this is mostly classic carols, instrumentals, and historical society choirs.  There’s a madrigal of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen that I think Thor will like.  Oh, and Pentatonix, because it’s not Christmas anymore without them.”

 

“Play Pentatonix first,” Loki said.  “I liked what you’ve played of theirs.”

 

“MiniJarvis, Play video, Pentatonix, Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies. Full volume, with bass boost on.”

 

Loki pulled his mother to sit on either side of Darcy to watch the artistry of the musical video.  He’d greatly enjoyed this new form of entertainment, the addition of sight to sound to create a story.  It was almost as good as musical theatre, which he’d become enamored with after she insisted on passing him tickets to several London shows ‘for cultural education’.

 

“These singing mages are quite talented,” his mother remarked.  “To sing and teleport, that’s very advanced.”

 

“They aren’t actual--” Darcy’s explanation was cut off by a strong hand on her mouth.

 

“Magic of the season,” Loki hissed in her ear.  “Let it be.”

 

“Not a Christmas song,” Bucky teased him as he handed out mugs of cocoa.  “Although I suppose it could be.”

 

“I think I could do that,” Little said, climbing into Frigga’s lap and touching the edge of Darcy’s tablet to feel the bass better.  “With  _ lots _ of practice, but the notes are right for adapting into a spell, one for movement, but probably not teleportation without lots of help, since I’ve only got one voice.  Flight, though, maybe.”

 

“Just remember what you told Ingeborg’s student,” Frigga said, “and make sure you have a spotter when you break laws of physics the first few times.”

 

Everyone present and accounted for, Darcy set the playlist going, and they all settled in to dole out and unwrap their gifts.

 

Loki gave Little a gold necklace with a local-teleport amulet. 

“It goes only to me or to Ciara as long as we are within the same realm as you. Just hold it and think of which of us you need to get to,” Loki clarified.

Frigga gave Ciara a fireproof cloak lined with the Urquhart plaid

King Eitri sent for the boys miniaturized and safe(er) forges and tools (like an EZbake oven, but a forge). Loki rolled his eyes expressively at how well the twins had captured the heart of a realm-leader.

Eir presented Zoe a book  of all the plants the Asgardian Healers use, their purposes and care and tending, with little envelopes of their seeds on each page. Krydda gave Zoe a simple vine plant that would make a good base to work from for many different experiment plants. Frigga gave her two plants grown from cuttings of the now-glowing roses.

Bucky got a cloak that would keep him warm even in Jotunheim’s dark season. And a large bag full of very soft yarns from Vanaheim.   
  
Steve got Asgardian paints that are richer, brighter and guaranteed to mix  _ right _ and a set of very fine brushes for detail work, finer and more controllable than similar brushes on Midgard.

 

Jane was given, by Frigga, a book on the building and engineering of the Bifrost, including a history of the science and evolution of the technology.

  
Loki made Darcy "Clark of Kent" glasses that he swore would give off a Totally Just an Intern vibe, making her all but invisible when she needed.

 

Clint got a hand-written book of Asgardian dessert pastry recipes.

 

Nat’s favorite present was a pair of bracers. They looked like golden cuff bracelets to the uninformed, but they acted as functional armor. There was a projectile-avoidance spell woven into the metal, allowing her to use them to guard large sections of her body with a simple pose. (Basically WW's bracers. Loki is a NERD.)

 

Darcy gave Loki a tablet with Frozen, Lilo & Stitch, Hunchback of Notre Dame and Court Jester fully loaded onto it. Loki Did Not Cry at “Let it Go”.  He did, however, curl up on a couch with Little and Frigga to watch ALL The Movies. Frigga Does Not Cry about Hunchback and Stitch. Even Odin Roared with laughter at Court Jester.

 

Steve’s presents were all handmade, portraits of the family in soft watercolors for Frigga, sketches of landscapes in charcoal for Thor, vibrant fantasy scenes for Loki done in acrylics, and an abstract in oils for Odin.  Odin looked at the contrasts of hard lines and soft sweeps like clouds, the predominant colors of reds and blacks and unsettling off-whites, and pulled Steve into an embrace, for he was also a God of War and knew what Steve was warning him of.

 

Bucky provided knit goods for everyone, including a delicate lace-weight shawl for Frigga made from the incredibly expensive, soft, and beautifully gold vicuna wool yarn that Tony had found for him.

 

Darcy had StarkPods loaded with songs for all of the Asgardians, which led to Fandral attempting to sing along to ‘Standing on the Sun’ and revealing he could not, in fact, sing as well as the glorious Queen of Midgard, Beyonce.


	27. One Last Present of Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT TELLIN NOTHIN!

“Brother, I need your advice. And possibly your help.”    


  
Loki looked up at Thor, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable, “Yes Thor? It is not often of late that you seek me out looking so worried.”

 

“I do not know what to do,” Thor sighed, sitting across from his brother. “I know a thing about a friend that they do not know. I do not know if they would wish to know, but I cannot give them the choice of knowing without also removing the choice from them.”

 

“Hmm. The advice I can give you depends very much upon what the information is.”

 

Thor looked thoughtfully off to the side where Little, the Twins, and their newest friend Gun played with their Christmas presents.

 

“Look at Gun. Who does he remind you of?”

 

Loki looked, and then Loki Looked, and paled. “How has no one seen before who his father is?”

 

“Best guess? No one thought to Look. It takes one with some control of seidr, and why should one spend that on a servant’s child?”

 

Loki hummed thoughtfully, “Regardless of what  _ he  _ thinks of the boy, we had best keep Gun in hand. It would be too easy for some to use him against his father. Or use his Sight against everyone. Though there is little love lost between us, I bear him no ill will, he has always been honest about how he feels about me.”

 

“That’s a given, brother, but what do I do about telling him? He has the right to know, but may not wish to….”

 

“We give all your friends a choice at the same time. Approach them as a group the way you approached me. I will ascertain from the mother the reason she never told.”

 

***

 

“My Lord,” Jiann began nervously, “I am but a serving wench. A serving wench who had one very fine roll in the hay a couple decades ago, to discover I have such a profound fertility that the ordinarily available child-avoidance methods simply do not work on me. Were I to have approached him when we arrived on Asgard, at best I would have been thought manipulative. I know my place, Prince Loki, and I did not wish upon my son what would have been said of us, so I said nothing, and kept  _ him  _ from the rumors that would have befallen him by keeping it secret from all. Even from Gun.”

 

“I understand this, Mistress Jiann. But now that we know, my brother and I are bound by duty to tell him of it. How do you wish us to proceed?”

 

She quaked, and Loki felt for her,  _ years _ of secrets for safety was much to bear alone, especially for one not raised to it as he was. And it was suddenly ending. She’d have been a fool if she hadn’t been afraid. Mistress Jiann was no fool, Loki thought admiringly.

 

“Tell him….Tell him I had no choice. I will stand ready to handle the fallout as needed.” Loki admired her strength of will. He’d have to get her to Mother. “I have not yet been to Alfheim. If we must, we will go there…”

 

“That won’t be necessary,” Hogun said from the door. “My apologies, Loki, it took you longer to find her, than it took Thor to find us. I had not meant to interrupt. Could you…?”   
  
“Of course. Jiann, whatever you decide, your son will be protected,” Loki rose and left the room quietly.

  
  


***

 

“Well?” Volstagg asked around a mouthful of beef.

 

Loki’s only answer was a smile.

 

***

 

“I can’t believe I have a son,” Hogun said in awe to his former lover.  They’d had a good time together, before he parted with her, and with Vanaheim to come to Asgard, and the same good will still existed, if now somewhat strained by time and secrets.

 

“You have a son,” Jiann said reassuringly, knowing it took much to discompose the quietest of the Warriors Three.  “He’s a fine boy, and would bring you honor, if you claim him.”

 

“I have a son who’s a Seer,” Hogun said.

 

Jiann winced.  “It’s not like there aren’t places with male mages and seers.  Even in Asgard there’s been greater acceptance since the Convergence.  Gun’s gifts are part of what make him special.”

 

“Of course they are!” Hogun said hotly.  Only those who knew him well would see it as hot, but Jiann smiled.  Her son would not be mocked by his father for his gifts.  “He is a treasure, and I intend to treat him as such.  That is…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Will you let me claim him?” Hogun asked shyly.  The light dusky color of his cheeks spoke of a much deeper emotion than his voice betrayed.  “I know I was not there, as I should have been.  Being called to fight for the Realm Eternal should not have blinded me to my other responsibilities.”

 

“Hogun,” Jian sighed.  “It’s not entirely my choice.  You’ll have to speak to Gun about this as well.  I’d be happy for my son to have a father, but he grew up not knowing you, he deserves to make his own choices as well.”

 

***

 

“I have a father.”

  
Little smiled at her friend. “You sound confused by this. You always had a father, you just didn’t know who he was.”

  
“Not confused,” Gun struggled for the words, “Bemused. I’ve never had one. What does one do with a father?”

 

“I’m still figuring out that myself,” Little admitted.  “Hey, Zoe!  What do you do with a father?  You have several.”

 

“I do art with Steve, and I get Bruce to loan me stuff from his lab, and Clint and I talk in sign almost exclusively and he buys me stuffed animals and watches Dora the Explorer with me.  Bucky is more Harley’s dad, they hang out in the garage working on cars and stuff.  Basically, Dads teach you stuff and make sure you have what you need to try new things.  Oh, and make really bad jokes in front of your friends.”

 

“Is that what Tony does?”

 

“ALL of them do. They just have different bad jokes.”

 

***

 

In the next room, Steve, Bucky, Clint, Odin and Frigga were doing their level best to not get caught laughing by the children. Zoe’s definition was a little… well,  _ Zoe.  _ Darcy looked at them worriedly, she was pretty sure Clint wasn’t actually breathing, and Steve was going red with the strain of keeping himself quiet…

 

“Psst! Loki!” She whispered, “Go distract the children. Get them somewhere else.”

Loki shared a look with his shadow-sister as Bucky fell over sideways, then quickly went out to the hall and over to the room the children inhabited. 

 

“There you are,” he said, straight faced as he could manage, “Gun, you and your mother will be moving to the suite of rooms next door to your father’s. Why don’t you lot go see if you can help?”

 

“That’s the other thing Dads do,” Zoe said, laying a sympathetic hand on Little’s shoulder.  “Give you chores and errands to do.  I think it’s supposed to help you figure out how to be helpful to other people, and like… be a good person and stuff.  If it gets bad, I’ll help you prank him.”

 

“Responsible, Zoe. The word is ‘responsible’,” Loki smiled.

 

***

 

The children returned a short while later, after the adults had barely managed to compose themselves.

 

“Weren’t you helping Gun move in?” Darcy asked mildly.

  
  
“Nope,” said Zoe.

 

“Not staying there if you paid me,” said Little.

 

“Too  _ weird, _ ” said Gun.

 

“It’d be rude to interrupt them,” added Caddell.

 

“Mister Hogun and Miss Jiann were busy trying not to get caught lookin at each other like Unca Tony looks at Pepper,” Colin said forthrightly, around a mouthful of cookie.

 

Fandral spit out the drink he hadn’t quite swallowed yet as Volstagg handed Loki a small purse of coins.

 

“Why do I yet bet against you?”

 

Loki grinned. 


	28. Crayons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by popular demand....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution, Angst and Feels occurred. Still a crackfic burger, just with a side-order of angstfries

Coulson sighed as he plodded heavily down to SciDiv. Ciara wouldn’t be back from her mission for another four hours, and the call to cancel Code Chartreuse had come from SciDiv, and had included that there was a “bit of a mess”. Knowing what the twins were capable of, the four year olds being completely covered in paraffin did not surprise him in the least. Colin crying did. Coulson didn’t hesitate. He knelt in the splattered wax and drew the boys to him. 

 

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

 

"Dh'fheuch sinn agus feuch sinn ach cha obraich sinn." Caddell whispered.

 

“What won’t work? What were you trying to do?”

 

“W-we were tryin’ t-to make crayons f’r Hulk cuz he doesn’ get art time cuz his han’s are too big an’ he deserves art time too but it won’t w- _ work _ ,” Colin stuttered through his sobs, ending on a wail. 

 

He did what he could to soothe the boys while thinking over the problem and cataloguing the mess. If Dr. Stevenson looked like she was about to tear up, well, Coulson wouldn’t judge her, the twins were as good at that as they were at making messes. She did, however, pull out her phone and start typing rapidly. He didn’t have to wonder what she was doing long. As he was soothing the boys, there were dings throughout Sci-Div, followed by a clatter of scientists saving their work and running….and tripping over stools, hitting file cabinets, and, in Dr. Grave’s case, a wall, as he missed the door by about three feet.

 

“Some problems,” he said, peeling the wax off of the boys gently, and carefully not wincing at the slightly reddened skin underneath, “are too big to handle alone. I like that you were trying to do something nice for Hulk. I don’t like the owies you got yourself trying. This is a grown-up job. I think it’s even too big for one grown up to do efficiently.” He paused and made deliberate eye contact with the assembled scientists, “Why don’t we let the interns clean up in here and the scientists figure out how to make Hulk crayons for you while we go get you two cleaned up? Then, if you’re very good in Day Care for the rest of the day, we’ll pick up your Mama and we’ll all go take Hulk’s new crayons to him.”

 

The hugs half-strangled him. He didn’t mind a bit.

 

***

 

It took him, Clint, and Natasha three hours to get most of the wax off of the boys, during which they were exceedingly well behaved. If he  hadn’t been the one to bribe them, Phil would have been rather worried about what they were plotting. By the time Ciara was done debriefing, the crayons were done, as was assorted paper types, and the designs for scissors, glue, and markers were on the table. Dr. Stevenson had sent Coulson a request for measurements of Hulk’s dominant hand and fingers so they could make comfortable scissors for him.  Phil grinned as he headed to pick the twins up from daycare, ordering up a quinjet and having the paper and crayons loaded onto it.

 

His smile slipped as he took in the frazzled, wide-eyed attendant. “Agent Danley?”

 

“They’re plotting something. I know it. I just don’t know  _ what.”  _

 

“Ah,” Phil nodded, understanding at once. “Nothing to worry about, it’s less plotting and more that they’ve been bribed.”

  
Agent Danley calmed.  “Oh. Okay then. Picking up?”

 

***

 

“Bruce?” Darcy called from the door to the lab.  She’d been very good so far about staying away if Bruce had the red door hanger up, an added layer of boundaries that helped him feel safe even in the city.  “It’s five pm and the Big Guy has visitors incoming at six.  Can you wrap things up here?”

 

“Sure, but who’s visiting the Big Guy?” Bruce asked, clicking ‘save’ on his spreadsheet and popping his back.  Hulk rumbled a bit in their mind, but Bruce focused on the image of an erlenmeyer flask they’d agreed meant “not in the lab” so he settled.

 

“Coulson called, the Twins want to give him presents, apparently.”  She shrugged, and offered a fist-bump.  Bruce took it gently and smiled at her.  Darcy made the constant struggle for his own space easier.  “I thought you might want dinner early, since the boys are… the boys.”

 

“Yeah,” Bruce sighed.  “I won’t be up for more than light soup after they wear Hulk out.  What’s on the menu?”

 

“Brazilian cheese bread, cachorro-quente, and cassava fries.  We’re hosting kiddos for dinner after they get here, seemed wise to go with something sorta familiar.”

 

“Ugh, yes please,” Bruce said, grabbing a pump of hand sanitizer before stepping out of the lab.  “The food was one amazing part of living in Brazil, and the cheese bread… yum.”

 

***

 

After eating, Bruce laid down on a yoga mat in the gym.  Jane looked in on him doing his deep breathing and waited patiently.  The green rippled across his skin smoothly, much less the agonizing rip she’d seen on the Hellicarrier.  That spoke well of Bruce’s attempts to reconcile with Hulk, and of the work of the team in helping Bruce feel not quite as much like it was a form of dying.  He still did voluntary shifts from corpse pose, but that was a practical issue.

 

“Hey Big Guy,” she said as Hulk sat up.  “Good to see you!”

 

“Tiny Jane!” he rumbled.  She squeaked as he picked her up for a hug that was reminiscent of a five year old with a stuffed bear.  “Play time?”

 

Jane laughed.  “Yes, Hulk, play time, and there’s friends to visit you too!”

 

“Frens?”

 

“Hulk! Hulk Hulk Hulk!” Colin shrieked happily, running into the room as he heard his friend’s voice. “We brought you  _ presents! _ ”

 

“Presens?”

 

***

 

Hulk’s first picture on the giant paper was of himself, drawing on a piece of paper. In careful letters he wrote:   
  
To Sydev   
Tenk yoo fur te cra ons end peper.   
Luv    
Hulk.

 

***

 

For the next hour, the three boys sprawled on the floor of the gym, coloring dozens of pictures. Caddell drew the Family, one at a time and all together. Colin, talking the whole time, illustrated a fantastic story involving car races, spaceships, and a giraffe. Don’t ask about the giraffe, no one understands but Colin and he can only laugh hysterically in response. Hulk drew a series of elaborate landscapes interspersed with pictures of his favorite people. He drew Betty the most, taking his time to get her smile just right. Then Colin showed him how to layer colors together as Colin drew the sunset for the last page of his story.

 

“You can use any light color and dark color together,” Colin explained.  “Red and yellow, blue and yellow… that one looks green.  Or you can use the white crayon to make things all smeary and see-through.”

 

“Ice skate rink!” Caddell said cheerfully, causing Colin to laugh.  Hulk had never been ice skating, but he had been to places with ice.  Some were nice, pretty and quiet with happy animals.

 

Hulk began to draw, from the out in, starting with the horizon, and a yellow sun poking up over a blue mountain.  Then he drew white over the ground and smeared it with the palest blue in the box, like the ice.  He added a little fox in a den, then a tree closer up.  He thought there had been birds in the tree, but he didn’t remember what kind.  Hulk scrunched up his face to remember.

 

It had been cold, and dry.  Puny Banner’s lips had cracked and Hulk woke up with blood-taste in his mouth.  The birds… were flying away.

 

That wasn’t right, birdies liked Hulk, they like sit on Hulk and make bad-men think Hulk just rock.  Birdies only fly away from bad-mens and their guns.

 

There was a gun though.

 

Puny Banner had the gun.

 

Puny Banner had tried….

 

He’d raised the gun.

 

Trigger crunch under Hulk’s hand.

 

SNAP!

 

Hulk reared back, scrambling away.  “NO!  No shoot Hulk!”

 

Tiny Jane rushed in.  She saw Hulk in the corner.  She saw Little Blue and Little Green looking at Hulk with wide eyes.  “I’m going to need you boys to be big and brave, and find Darcy for us, okay?” she asked.  Little Blue and Little Green ran out.  Sweet Betty ran in.

 

“What happened?”

 

“I think Hulk had a meltdown,” Tiny Jane said.  She tilted her head and held out a hand, palm up.  “You want to tell us what happened, buddy?”

 

“Banner,” Hulk growled.  “Did a Bad.”

 

“Bruce?” Sweet Betty asked.  Her voice sound upset, hurt, but not ouch-hurt, sad-hurt.  Hulk made a sound to match it.  He was also sad-hurt.  “But he’s been doing so well!”

 

“Not now, before.  Before meet Tiny Jane.”  Hulk didn’t want to make Betty more sad-hurt, but Bad needed to be told, that was a rule.  Darcy made it a rule.

 

“Here. This place.”

 

“I know this spot,” Jane said, looking at the paper.  “The aurora is really clear here, I did some work up here with a magnetologist on field-radiation interactions.  But it’s the middle of nowhere, why would Bruce go here?”

 

“To keep people safe,” Betty said with a harsh frown.  Hulk didn’t like Betty looking mad.  “Hulk, what did Bruce do here?”

 

“Shoot Hulk.”

 

“That careless, stupid, selfish IDIOT!” Betty snapped.  “Not you, Hulk, you did nothing wrong and we still love you, but when Bruce comes back out, you better believe I will be having…  _ words _ with him.  Many, many… words.”

 

“Okay, Betty, I think you need a cool-off,” Jane said, rubbing Betty’s back.  “Hulk doesn’t need you angry right now.  I got this, go drink some tea and try to relax.  Beat up the punching bags with Steve, that should help.”

 

Betty nodded, and gave Hulk a quick hug before leaving.  Hulk looked down at his picture.  The blue crayon had smashed into one corner, and the green one had left a line down the middle like boom-lights from the sky.

 

“Hulk made accident smash,” he said mournfully.  “Presens go smash, now no good.  Hulk ruin everything.”

 

“Hey there, buddy,” said Darcy from the doorway.  “That seems a little broad.  You don’t ruin everything.  The Tower is still here, right?”

 

“I break my crayons, too, when I get excited while coloring,” Colin blithely announced. “Everybody breaks crayons sometimes. It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with your hands that isn’t wrong with everybody’s hands.”

 

“Besides,” Caddell chimed in, “Just cuz they’re broken doesn’t mean they aren’t good anymore. Broken crayons can still color an’ make pretty things. An’ sometimes they’re better than whole crayons, cuz there’s things broken crayons can make that you can’ use whole ones for.” He paused thoughtfully, “People are like that too, I fink.”

 

Darcy made a face like she was going to cry, but her voice was happy as she agreed.

 

***

 

In the living room, the rest of the adults had been watching the events on the main TV. Nat was on the phone, speaking rapidly in Russian while Coulson arranged a quinjet for her. Clint was already in the kitchen, baking sheet-cake  sized chocolate chip cookies, and pans of brownies. Bucky was sniffling, tears running down his face, as Steve silently handed him a handkerchief.

  
“Shut up.”

 

“I said nothing.”

  
“You were thinkin it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dh'fheuch sinn agus feuch sinn ach cha obraich sinn. = "We tried and tried but it won't work."
> 
> Cachorro-quente is like a hot dog, but not quite. Darcy likes starting them off with something she knows they like canted in a direction of a new cuisine rather that spring all-new foods when Phil said they had a bit of a trying day.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hulk learns how broken crayons can be used. Tony Does Not Cry.

Hulk had eaten snacks with his friends, crunchy potato-like sticks and yummy balls of bread-cheese-yumminess and sticks of meat wrapped in more bread.  Then Darcy had read them a story about a princess who went on an adventure and ended up wearing a paper bag. Hulk understood that adventures were not nice to clothings, and he thought the prince at the end was stupid for expecting her to be wearing something soft.  Soft things rip.

 

Thinking of rips, Hulk looked mournfully at his presents.

 

“Hulk, would you like to play more with your new art supplies?” asked the Momster.  Hulk knew she had a name, but after trying to say Mama Monster too fast, he’d said Momster and Colin had laughed a lot, so now she was that.

 

“All smashy,” Hulk rumbled.  He wanted to, but he didn’t know how to use them, now that he couldn’t hold the sticks of wax.

 

“So?  We can make stained glass!”

 

Colin popped his head up over Hulk’s shoulder, red hair tickling Hulk’s face as he climbed to a sitting position.  “Can we make really biiiig stained glass?”

 

“Mr. Jarvis can make the wax paper any size we need, Mam,” Caddell added from under Hulk’s other arm.  “Pleeeeeeaaaase?

 

Momster laughed.  “Well, I suppose if it’s alright with Mr. Jarvis, we can make it big.  After all, Hulk should make his Hulk-sized, right?”

 

They moved from the gym to a big room that smelled like plastic and metal, and Big Jarvis told them to wait while little whirring things laid out paper on the floor.  Hulk leaned down to look at one, who made a rude sound and waved a black hose at Hulk.

 

Across the room, Tony was preparing to tell Dummy to leave Hulk alone, but that turned out unnecessary.

 

“Sorry,” Hulk said.  “Not mean to scare you.  Want to see who you are.”

 

Dummy whirred.  “That’s Dummy,” Tony said.

 

“Funny Tony is being Rude Tony,” Hulk said warningly.  “Brave Bot is not a dummy. Brave Bot protects his family.  Like Hulk does.”

 

“What?”  Tony looked confused.  “Hulk… do you... speak bot?”

 

“Not speak, not spoken,” Hulk said, trying to go slowly.  Punies almost never understood this. “Watch what Brave Bot does.  How moves, where looking. It is the same with animals, all want something, not want other thing.  Hulk wants and not-wants things too, so Hulk sees that.”

 

“He has an empathic bond with my bots,” Funny Tony said, again being funny.  Dummy whirred again. “Okay, yeah, buddy. You go ahead and make new friends.  It’s okay, Hulk is safe.”

 

Dummy did a dance, waving his claw around.

 

“Young Masters, the paper is ready,” Big Jarvis announced.

 

***

 

Tony and Steve stood to the side together as Ciara showed Hulk, and to a lesser extent her own boys, how to smash shavings of crayon into patterns between sheets of parchment paper, allowing Jarvis and the bots to hot-press the sheets like a large iron.  The twins clearly knew this technique in a smaller format, but were having fun exploring the upscaled tools in Tony’s Super-FabLab. (He may have watched Sid the Science Kid. For research.) Hulk, on the other hand, was brand-new to the entire thing, and having a grand time being told he was allowed to do whatever kind of smashed pattern he wanted.

 

“Pablo Picasso said ‘ It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child’,” Tony remarked to Steve.  “He was a…”

 

“I’m aware of Picasso, Tony,” Steve said drily.  “He also said ‘Art is not made to decorate rooms. It is an offensive weapon in the defense against the enemy.’  In 1943.”

 

Tony looked at Steve’s smirk.  “Okay, Captain Sassy, but he was wrong.  That’s art, and I can’t see a weapon in it.  I’m a Stark, we see weapons in everything.”

 

Steve smiled and it was a sad, troubled thing.  Tony hated when Steve smiled like that. It felt… wrong.  Like if Pepper was to trip on her heels, or if Rhodey were to disrespect an officer.  Off kilter from how the world was supposed to work. So he didn’t resist when Steve dragged him over to a side screen, and turned on the overhead camera to watch Hulk move across the FabLab’s floor with handfuls of wax chunks.

“Look again.”  Steve pointed. “The arcs, the bubbles.  That distinctive half-circle crackle effect.  Watch how Hulk places the colors. Don’t ask yourself what you see.  Ask what you feel.”

 

Tony traced the lines, the oroboros of a rainbow circling back to splashes of color.  Bright reds and blue were divided by a goldenrod yellow line, splashed with white. Darker reds and purple bordered a selection of browns and blues in a way that seemed playful and close, like the colors were playing tag.  “Legolas is losing, and loving every minute,” Tony said, then blinked. “What in the heck?”

 

“You’re right,” Steve laughed.  “That’s Clint and Tasha and Clint is clearly not winning.  To be fair, though, Tasha has Darcy on her team.”

 

“Darcy?  I was expecting her to be like… electric blue or something.”

 

“You seriously think a Browncoat like her isn’t going to be mostly browns?” Steve asked, looking incredulous.  “Besides, she’s a spy, she stays hidden. Brown is good for that.”

 

“So, he drew us?” Tony asked.  “He’s drawn us before.

 

“He drew a defensive line,” Steve said.  “Against the idea of being broken. Right there, you’re shoring me up.  Over here, though, Thor has your back, and if I’m not mistaken, that white curl is him over-powering your arc reactor like we practiced in Nevada.  Darcy is buffering Nat, Clint keeps it from getting too dark. My blue and Darcy’s blue start to mix here, because without each other, we bleed our feelings all over everything.  Hulk is drawing up plans for a  _ family _ .”

 

“I’m framing this,” Tony decided.

 

“It needs light behind it,” Ciara informed them.  “And it’s ready for pressing, which means we have to leave so the wax fumes don’t kill us all.  Jarvis, you have the temperature specifications, correct?”

 

“Yes, Agent Harrow.”

 

“I’m putting this in the window of the Common Room,” Tony corrected as they moved away from the FabLab.  “So the light comes though.”

 

***

 

Once the Twins had worn themselves out and been packed off for their home with most of the Agents in tow, and Hulk had fallen asleep so that Bucky could scoop Bruce into bed, the remaining adults in the Tower looked at the art that Hulk had made.

“This really is amazing stuff,” Steve said, probably for the thirteenth time.

 

“You should call Kyle and Alex,” Darcy told him, flipping through the slideshow of images she and Jarvis were collating into another digital scrapbook together.  “They love that art stuff you guys talk about… even though I admit, it goes way over my head. I just like pretty colors.”

 

“Ooh, good idea,” Steve replied.  “It’s late, though. They’ve probably gone to bed by now.”

 

“Seriously?” Tony asked, quirking a brow.  “You mean to imply hip Brooklynite art gallery owners would be asleep before ten?”

 

“Let me rephrase.  I’m, yes, fairly sure they’re in bed.  I was wrong to imply sleep was happening.”  Steve grinned as Tony blushed and stammered.  It was always funny to watch another remnant of Howard’s frankly delusional story-telling break under steady exposure to Steve’s real personality.  “Regardless, I think I should call in the morning. We can get Hulk a showing at Signal, his work is easily good enough.”

 

***

 

Tony was good as his word, and installed Hulk’s first piece in the south facing window of the common room.  The next day the media was buzzing, nearly frothing at the mouth about the “New Modern Art Installation At Avengers’ Tower!” Hulk made several pieces for display at Steve’s friends’ gallery, but no one got to see, much less buy, that first one, that one was special.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Signal Gallery is a real place: http://www.ssiiggnnaall.com/
> 
> The project described is safest with adult supervision, as it requires a hot iron.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fan Art for Code Chartreuse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8400004) by [Lymmel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lymmel/pseuds/Lymmel)




End file.
